


run with me (catch me if you can)

by enpleurs



Category: VIXX
Genre: Historical AU, M/M, Side Pairing: Keo, see notes for warnings and other notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:02:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 86,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enpleurs/pseuds/enpleurs
Summary: Hakyeon laughed softly, eyes closing as if in memory. "Isn't it strange? To have stolen so many things, only to have their most important things stolen from them. I guess that's fate too."The fresh smell of rain surrounded Hakyeon's words, enveloping them, capturing them, surrounding the two men standing at the edge of the pavilion and draping those words around them both.(Or where Hakyeon is a master thief and Wonsik tries to catch him—and the story which happens thereafter.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/gifts).
  * Inspired by [catch me if you can](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569420) by [renquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renquise/pseuds/renquise). 



> **warnings:** wonsik is an investigator in an approximation of 7th century tang china, and most warnings stem from this premise including minor character death, murders, mentions of slavery, dub-con, and non-con particularly in the context of courtesans (including minors). there is a murder disguised as a suicide that is immediately noted to be a murder. highlight for details on when/what:  shortly after the start of part 3, the murder victim is found hanging in his room. other warnings: grief, loss.
> 
>  
> 
> **notes:** this fic is a remix of renquise's [catch me if you can](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10569420), which is a _delightful_ fic i highly suggest you read! however, this fic is a little (lot...) more sombre in tone. while this occurs in an approximation of 7th century tang china/silla kingdom, various cultural/temporal/locational anachronisms render it to be more historical fantasy than historical. hakyeon's stage name 'n' comes from the 'yeon' in his name, 인연/因緣, or _en_ /縁 in japanese, which has been translated as 'fate', but with connotations of 'affinity', 'cause' (wikis: [x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nidana) [x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yuanfen)). due to the length, the fic has been split into 3 parts for ease of reading (and ease of fixing typos). below are also quick-jumps to markers placed at the start and approximate middle of each part.
> 
>    
> [i](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586/chapters/27165657#i) | [ii](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586/chapters/27165657#ii) | [iii](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586/chapters/27165675#iii) | [iv](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586/chapters/27165675#iv) | [v](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586/chapters/27165693#v) | [vi](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12005586/chapters/27165693#vi)

 

 

Out of all the thefts that Wonsik had had the good fortune to investigate, this one might have been the most baffling. Not because of the method or the situation, but because it was—

"A phoenix," Taekwoon repeated. "A baby phoenix." Wonsik fancied he could hear Taekwoon’s raised eyebrows in his voice without needing to look—he waved Taekwoon away to investigate before he could further raise the ire of Lady Cheon, who was simultaneously distraught and extremely, extremely upset. 

Wonsik listened to her with a purposely grave expression on his face, filing her voice to the back of his mind. In one corner of the small courtyard they now stood in, there was a very large cage, conspicuously empty except for a pile of hay in one corner. It was, Lady Cheon supplied, the—former—home of a baby phoenix with splendid gold feathers, and that would grow into a majestic creature of splendor, and had been brought from lands even beyond the lands beyond the ocean. Wonsik pushed her voice even further to the back of his mind.

He was also sure she wouldn’t be getting her 'phoenix' back, even if he and Taekwoon applied all their investigative powers and then some. Just as a wall sized painting, five ancient vases, a stone tablet of historical significance, two small statues that had been magnetically paired, a clock—among several other things that were either worth absolutely nothing or were absolutely priceless that Wonsik recalled but couldn’t be bothered to name—would never be returning to their owners.

With each and every messenger pigeon or visit from a petty messenger detailing a theft that 'may be of Young Master Wonsik’s interest', Wonsik regretted agreeing taking on this case more and more.

"Ma’am," Wonsik interrupted, allowing a good half second of small vindication at the way Lady Cheon’s mouth hung open at being addressed in such a manner before continuing smoothly. "Your servant Kim Wonsik regrets to inform you that neither Young Master Taekwoon nor I are paid for our services and as such we can not presume to be honoured servants of the court. We are here by the personal request by the esteemed Eleventh Prince, who has, without a doubt, the greatest sense of judgement in such cases."

Her change in demeanour as she recalled exactly who she was speaking to was incredibly rewarding. When he drew himself to his full height, he was a good head taller than her. While he lacked Taekwoon’s sharp features, Wonsik was still, by most accounts, a handsome young man and well built. There was no doubt his status was higher than hers, although Wonsik really could have stood to be more polite. He blamed it on the lack of sleep, and prolonged proximity to Taekwoon, who was well within earshot and barely withholding laughter. 

"I would like to investigate the scene," Wonsik said. He placed his hands together and bowed, just enough to be polite. "Now, if Lady Cheon will excuse me."

"Yes, yes, of course, please," she said, gathering her composure. Wonsik bowed to hide a smile, and turned to walk towards Taekwoon.

"' _Ma’am_ '?" Taekwoon’s mouth was pursed tight as he swallowed his laughter, his brows quirking upwards.

"You’re rubbing off on me," Wonsik said under his breath.

"I have never said that before in my life," Taekwoon said, a little too proud. Taekwoon's greatest amusement in life seemed to be derived from annoying people, like a very young child. Wonsik gave him a disdainful look before he could catch himself. Taekwoon really was rubbing off on him. 

Wonsik shook his head to himself and began pacing, tapping his fan against his palm as he looked. There were the faint marks of muddy footprints—it had rained last evening—that had been left deliberately as they lead to two separate roofs, but came from nowhere that could be seen. He was faintly aware that Taekwoon had wandered off again to do the same thing but ignored him, at least until Taekwoon had walked up behind him and rested his chin on Wonsik’s shoulder.

"You're looking for this?" Taekwoon said. He held out a folded and slightly crumpled sheet of paper. "It was under the hay."

Wonsik snatched the paper from him. "Was there anything else?" he asked as he unfolded it.

" _Was there anything else?_ " Taekwoon echoed. He straightened, lifting his bony chin off of Wonsik's shoulder. "Were you expecting something? Another cross-stitched flower?"

"No, of course not," Wonsik said. In beautiful calligraphy but almost childishly simple writing: _it's just a chicken once you wash off all the gold paint! but keep it a secret—let's not embarrass the lady, and a chicken isn't a very impressive thing to steal. work hard wonsik, maybe next time! sorry about the food, stealing is hungry work!_. He’d forgotten that a basket of steam buns had also disappeared, as well as a plate of sweets. Wonsik sighed, tracing his finger over the character for 'fate' that their thief had taken to signing their letters with.

"He’s taunting you," Taekwoon said. Wonsik nodded absentmindedly. "And you _like_ it."

"It just makes it more interesting!" Wonsik protested. He folded the paper and stuffed it into his sleeve, tucking his fan back into his belt. Taekwoon simply arched his eyebrows. 

"A murder would be more interesting," Taekwoon said. "Why hasn't anyone been murdered lately."

" _Taekwoon._ "

"At least we can solve a murder," Taekwoon said. Wonsik resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

Not the least because Taekwoon was right.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"I heard your thief got away again," Jaehwan said, grinning far too brightly.

"He's not _my_ thief," Wonsik groaned.

Behind them, water flowed down and over the sheer rock face, pooling in a small pond that trickled away into a river that ran beneath the bridge they stood on. They were cast in shade, the sun barely visible over the rocks as it slipped in and out behind heavy clouds. A small copse of trees stood at the end of the bridge, a splash of green in the grays of rocks and water. The most brilliant colour, however, was the rich silk robe that Jaehwan wore, a deep red. It looked, as did everything, very good on him. The Eleventh Prince was slight of build, but nearly as tall as Wonsik. A jade pendant hung off the belt around his narrow waist, similar to Wonsik's own, but of finer quality stone, as befitting his status. He had a high, sharp nose, one that could be said to be almost foreign looking. In combination with his bright eyes and strong jaw, Jaehwan's profile was striking, and the Eleventh Prince could not be said to be anything but handsome. It made Wonsik a little envious.

He sighed, running a hand back through his hair.

"Agreeing to this was a mistake," Wonsik said. "I know the investigation bureau can direct any unusual thefts directly to me without going through you, but it can be a little too much."

"Hey, the faster you can get to the scene the better," Jaehwan said. " _I’m_ doing you a favour."

"Who’s doing who the favour?" Wonsik grumbled.

"You are," Jaehwan admitted, although his smile was far from contrite. 

"Please tell me if anyone turns up dead," Wonsik said, not quite believing he was saying it. "Taekwoon’s starting to get insufferable. Even the simplest death will do."

"Ugh, that grumpy cat. Of course he’s waiting for someone to die."

"I almost can't blame him," Wonsik said. "The most difficult case we've had in weeks has been my thief, and you know how that one's been going."

"You said it, your thief," Jaehwan crowed.

"Only because you pushed them onto me," Wonsik spluttered. He sighed. "Don’t tell Taekwoon, but I just don’t know if it’s worth it—I know, I know, upholding the law—never mind, forget I said anything."

"Mm," Jaehwan hummed. His brows drew slightly downwards as he stepped forward, resting his hands on the railing of the bridge. "We should get together properly soon, we haven’t done that in _weeks_."

"Did you miss me?" Wonsik laughed, letting it taper off into a smile that itself fell away into something quieter. "Yeah. Tomorrow night?"

"Magistrate Kim left three days ago, I heard," Jaehwan said.

"The residence is emptier already," Wonsik said. "But my father had to return."

"It’s been ten years now?" Jaehwan glanced at Wonsik, and Wonsik nodded slowly.

"You remembered?" It was Jaehwan’s turn to nod, followed with a small shrug, as if to say 'of course'. Wonsik felt warmth swell in his heart, and had to swallow as heat unexpectedly prickled at his eyes. He sighed, stepping up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Jaehwan. "She would’ve been twenty and married now."

"Maybe to me," Jaehwan said. He grinned, wide and crooked.

"I would never let her step _near_ you," Wonsik said.

"But if I’d married your sister then we’d be brothers," Jaehwan said. "You’d be the brother of a prince."

"I’d pass," Wonsik said. 

Jaehwan laughed again, softer this time. "But no, no murders lately. You know I always give you the interesting cases."

The shadows cast over the water grew suddenly sharp again as the sun pushed aside the curtain of clouds, and jewels seemed to sparkle on the surface, past the shadows.

"Even un-interesting ones," Wonsik said.

"Nothing but pointless squabbles among the common rabble," Jaehwan said.

"Don’t call them that," Wonsik said.

Jaehwan's lips twitched, his shoulders lifting in a small shrug. Wonsik sighed again, knowing that Jaehwan was unlikely to have his mind changed on that any time soon. It was what came of being both royal, and spoiled, Wonsik supposed. It was hard to not spoil Jaehwan—Wonsik had only known him for three years, but he could easily imagine Jaehwan as a child. Heck, Wonsik wanted to spoil him even now, and Jaehwan was _older_ than him. But for all of Jaehwan's opinions on commoners, he wasn't an unfair bailiff—the Emperor could have made worse choices. Besides, Jaehwan had a keen mind, was good at picking apart crimes and passing as fair a judgement as any. Yes, Wonsik had decided, Jaehwan was a good choice.

"Look at us, the greatest minds in our great city—nay, our great kingdom—reduced to searching for lost dogs and uncatchable thieves," Jaehwan said, spreading his hands dramatically.

"He is not uncatchable," Wonsik countered. He paused and frowned. "Or she."

"It was a very pretty flower," Jaehwan said, nodding sagely. "Exquisitely fine needlework. They must have very pretty fingers, whoever they are."

"What does pretty fingers have to do with anything?" Wonsik frowned deeply.

"The image, of course!" Jaehwan said. "Sitting by the window, the sun cast against her hair as she threads the needle through—it's not a perfect image unless she has pretty fingers."

"Or he," Wonsik said. They _had_ said they were handsome. That'd been four thefts ago, a vase of dried flowers, possibly the least valuable thing in the entire house. It hadn't even been an _old_ vase. They had not only called themselves handsome, but had also compared Wonsik to a bouquet of flowers, only manlier. Taekwoon had nearly had a laughing fit on the spot—he'd ended up looking incredibly constipated instead.

"Can't you make up your mind?" Jaehwan whined. "I can't decide if I want to like them or not."

"He, or she, is a thief," Wonsik said flatly.

"Who writes you letters and leaves you gifts. And they called you _handsome_. Wow. He's _courting_ you," Jaehwan said. The same smug smile was back.

"Taekwoon has pretty fingers," Wonsik interrupted, before Jaehwan could expand on the thought. This conversation was veering in a very dangerous direction. His words had their intended effect, judging from Jaehwan's immediate grimace.

"Ugh," Jaehwan said very coherently. Wonsik chuckled at Jaehwan's scrunched up nose.

The sound of water filled the brief silence, Wonsik catching his sleeves in his hands as he stood a moment in thought. 

"He's committing crimes that deserve death now, isn't he," he said.

There was a pause, a tilt of Jaehwan's head, but it was not of true consideration because the answer was clear. The law, sometimes, was very clear—unless one were both rich and important, and a common thief was not. A common thief could be expected to be treated even more fairly, if fair was harsh. "Yes," Jaehwan said. He shrugged. "After so many? Without a doubt."

"Here, take a look at this," Wonsik said, half wishing he'd never brought it up. His father was a magistrate—Wonsik only knew the law too well. He handed Jaehwan a small scroll, done up very prettily.

Jaehwan's frown turned into something more contemplative as he took it. Wonsik had read it over enough times to have memorised the elegant poem inside.

It was written in undoubtedly the same hand as every note left so far by his thief, but the childish language had given way to clever words. There was no sign off, but the sender was clear.

" _The wind bends the shadow of the nine sons of the dragon, as the sun battles with the moon. Frost silvers the home of pine and bamboo, bending before the wind._ A riddle?" Jaehwan looked up at Wonsik, eyes already sparkling in challenge. 

Wonsik nodded. He moved to stand beside Jaehwan, running a finger along the first row of each of the four lines. It had been Taekwoon who had pointed out it wasn't a riddle in the meaning of the words, but a riddle made of the words themselves. Two more verses followed—time, place, name, hidden somewhere in the twelve lines. 

"The new moon," Wonsik said. They were pretty sure on that one, especially since their thief had helpfully included the hint in the second line. A soft question, an easy start. "That's in five days. I thought you could help shed some light on this before then."

"Hm, a hint from your thief?" Jaehwan asked, without looking up from the text.

"Yes," Wonsik admitted. He moved onto the second verse, drawing out a line that looked promising. "A temple in the east, maybe."

"It could be," Jaehwan agreed, squinting at the words.

"You can keep it—I've made a copy. Probably more interesting than the missing dog," Wonsik said.

"Turns out the neighbours ate it," Jaehwan said absentmindedly. Wonsik winced. He'd always had a fondness for dogs.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It wasn't long before Taekwoon's wish was granted.

The sky was clear, but the moon was the barest sliver. It was almost eerie, the only light coming from the lanterns, bright yet wavering. Wonsik stifled a yawn, resisting the urge to lean back against the wall. He ran his eyes over the scene, skimming only briefly over Taekwoon hunched over the body, the puddle of blood beneath it, already congealed. As far as Wonsik was concerned, it was a fairly cut and dry case—or maybe he just hoped it was. Jaehwan certainly thought so, having wandered over even after Wonsik and Taekwoon had arrived, fully dressed and impeccably clean. Wonsik looked like he'd been hauled out of bed at three hours after midnight, and Taekwoon much the same. It was, of course, exactly what had happened.

It was only the three of them at the scene, and the four guards holding the lamps.

"Four hours ago," Taekwoon said quietly. He sat up, tipped his head back to look at Jaehwan and Wonsik. "From the smell on his clothes, he was drunk. He was—" Taekwoon rolled the body over onto its side, and Jaehwan wrinkled his nose at the blood stained mess, "stabbed twice in the back." He mimed two knife thrusts, clean and precise. Let the body fall back down.

The eyes were blank, and there were no real identifying features. A middle aged man of middling height and middling size. He wasn't particularly ugly, nor was he particularly handsome. He didn't seem to be particularly rich, nor was he obviously poor. Probably a drunken fight gone wrong, Jaehwan had said. But a murder was a murder, and Taekwoon had latched onto this one like a dog with a bone.

"There are three knife wounds in the chest. I'd say they're what killed him. But—" and here, Wonsik could feel Jaehwan perk up beside him, sleepy dullness suddenly discarded. Wonsik, on the other hand, was struggling to keep his eyes open. While he agreed, on principle that the fresher the scene was the better, he preferred those times to happen while he was awake, and before he'd gone to sleep, which often included much of the day. He hadn't been so fortunate this time.

"But?" Wonsik prompted, because he knew Jaehwan would rather crawl through horse shit than admit interest in anything Taekwoon said. Not that Taekwoon was any better.

"But these are much older," Taekwoon said, turning the man on his side again. "Maybe by two hours."

"Two hours," Wonsik mused.

Taekwoon nodded, letting the dead man back down again. He glanced back at Wonsik again, eyes passing over Jaehwan, and Wonsik came to crouch down next to him. After a moment, Jaehwan did as well, both of them watching as Taekwoon lifted up the dead man's arm, pulling back his sleeve, revealing the obvious marks of where rope had bruised his skin.

"Ah, so not quite a drunk fight," Wonsik said. He didn't know whether to be interested or disappointed. 

"I want to take a look around," Taekwoon said, standing abruptly. It was, Wonsik had decided, quite unfair how awake Taekwoon was. Jaehwan had said so as well, that Taekwoon ought to have been the grumpy one. Taekwoon was not an early riser.

"He's been looking forward to a murder for weeks," Wonsik pointed out.

"Psycho," Jaehwan said under his breath, but more than loud enough for Taekwoon to both hear, and pointedly ignore. Wonsik sighed, shaking his head. He'd never understand those two.

There were several long seconds of silence—a tribute to the early hour that seemed to have slowed Jaehwan's mouth considerably. Taekwoon was peering closely at the far wall, and Wonsik briefly debated moving closer to look as well. Taekwoon had taken over though, and he and Jaehwan had reached a silent and mutual agreement to let him. Murders were the most interesting, Wonsik agreed, but it was too early to be excited about a murder.

"You can finally go catch your thief," Jaehwan suddenly said. 

"Oh?" Wonsik raised his eyebrows, taking the folded sheet of paper that Jaehwan proudly shoved into his hands. It'd been copied out in Jaehwan's own hand, slightly messier and ink smudged, not helped by the circles and lines that obscured half of each character. Wonsik quickly skimmed across each row, combining the parts of the words that Jaehwan had indicated.

" _Another_ vase?" Wonsik groaned. "How many does he need?"

"But not just _any_ vase," Jaehwan said. He was, what Taekwoon called, _obnoxiously smug_ , kind of like a puppy that was incredibly proud of having retrieved a rabbit that no one had quite asked for. In this case, Wonsik _had_ asked for it, so Jaehwan had every right to be obnoxiously smug. "Do you know the story behind the Red Iris Vase?"

"I'm afraid not," Wonsik said. Jaehwan grinned, happy to be the bearer of a tale.

"It's said to have been a gift from the Emperor's grandfather to the most beautiful lady in the kingdom, but they were cruelly torn apart because she was of base birth. It was passed on to her daughter who was just as beautiful, and then lost to time until it was delivered to the temple, as beautiful and fine as ever," Jaehwan said. 

"And why that temple in particular?" Wonsik asked, frowning.

Jaehewan shook his head, a half shrug. "No one knows," he said. "There's rumours that she bore another daughter to the Emperor and she was hidden at the temple, but whatever it is, it's a very precious and unique vase."

"Which would make it difficult to sell," Wonsik mused. "Why does he steal things that he can't sell?"

"Or she," Jaehwan pointed out, and Wonsik regretted having ever broached that possibility to Jaehwan. "Maybe they're really damn rich, they're just doing it for fun."

"For fun?" Wonsik's eyebrows went up again.

Jaehwan shrugged. "They could be a government official, with the way they write," he said.

"Yes, I suppose so," Wonsik said.

"Cultured, smart, scholarly. Mysterious, you've never even seen his shadow. Leaves you gifts like cross-stitchings and children's toys... Writes poetry and clever riddles that not even Kim Wonsik can solve, although of course they weren't a problem for Lee Jaehwan."

Wonsik really couldn't help it, he had to pet Jaehwan on the head. No one was watching anyway; Taekwoon had gone back to poking at the body. Jaehwan screwed up his face and smacked Wonsik away.

"Good job," Wonsik said. 

"So you're finally gonna catch him?" Jaehwan asked. "Can I come with you when you tell the nuns? I've always wanted to see that vase."

"No, we're not going to tell them," Wonsik said. Jaehwan's expression immediately morphed into disbelief and Wonsik lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "Taekwoon thinks we should smoke them out, wait outside. Otherwise we might tip him off and he won't show up."

"Clearly he _wants_ you to show up," Jaehwan said, frowning. "He told you where he'll be. Although he could be lying."

"No, I don't think so," Wonsik said. He sighed. "Maybe you're right, he's just doing this for fun. It's a game to him. But if they move the vase or hide it, then we've lost our chance."

"Maybe that's what he _wants_ you to do," Jaehwan said. Another frown. "Since when did that grump make the calls?"

"He's become quite good at this," Wonsik said, trying to placate Jaehwan before he worked himself into another tirade over Taekwoon. He liked working with the prince, and he liked working with Taekwoon, but working with them both was like trying to mind a cat and a dog constantly yapping and hissing at each other at times. "And it makes sense."

Jaehwan harrumphed, crossing his arms. Wonsik was about to placate Jaehwan but Taekwoon was walking over to them, simultaneously frowning and with a quirk of a smile.

"He has a sister? We'll go talk to her," Taekwoon said with the air of someone having grasped the last thread of a complicated tale, and that, Wonsik supposed, was that.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The night was dark as ink, not even a hint of stars sprinkled across the sky, painted over by thick clouds. It did not smell like rain, but there was no doubt that it would soon rain. One did not have to have studied the motions of the skies and the winds to read it in the clouds. Lights yet burned in the temple, although most of the nuns would have long been asleep. There were guards, of course, assigned by the Emperor, whose jurisdiction this temple fell under. It had been commissioned by one, nearly two hundred years ago, a different dynasty, a different family. Wrested away with blood as such things always were. Half an hour's ride by horse, close enough to be close yet far enough to be seen as a place apart. The sun would rise above the temple before it rose above the city, and that had held some significance when it had been built, on top of a small hill, if it could barely be called a hill.

There was no wind tonight, and certainly no rain. The night could not be said to be hot, but nor could it be said to have cooled significantly from the stifling heat of the day. Wonsik thought briefly back to the dead man two nights ago. It was good that they had been roused when they had been he grudgingly agreed—bodies spoiled quickly in the summer, even early in the summer as it was.

Taekwoon was almost preternaturally still beside him. There it was, another difference between Taekwoon and Jaehwan—Jaehwan couldn't seem to stop moving, like a puppy with far too much energy. Taekwoon, on the other hand, seemed to be barely breathing, only his eyes flickering, catching shapes and shadows in the night.

Whereas Wonsik had all but resigned himself to never catching his thief whatever he'd told Jaehwan, Taekwoon pursued it with dogged determination, like he pursued so many things in life. 

Wonsik didn't mind working through the cases that Jaehwan passed along to him, whether they were overly difficult or because he was overburdened, boring or not. Then there were those that people brought to him, knowing that the Young Master of the Kim family had a keen mind for such things. Taekwoon had been one of those people, several years ago, long before people started showing up on his metaphorical doorstep. They had never solved that one. Wonsik still counted it as his biggest failure. Second biggest failure. They had been children, it was true, and yet.

Since that day, Wonsik had found a friend, and an assistant—a partner.

They had found the clock a few weeks ago, a chance finding. Taekwoon had found it in a store several cities over, one that dealt in such things. It was an old time piece, carved with the relief of a boar. One of the valuable things that had been stolen. They had chased that lead after the clock had been returned to the rightful owner, but it had ended at the home of a pig farmer whose ancestor had been the original maker of the clock.

Taekwoon's frustration could be a frightening thing.

Despite the number of thefts—or because of them—there seemed to be no rhyme nor reason to them, the targets so varied that it was almost impossible to categorise. Wonsik had a keen mind, a puzzle solving mind, a sharp eye, and with the three of them, cases that ought to have been unsolvable had been cracked open, yet a simple serial thief had eluded them for over half a year.

And here they were, hidden outside a temple, drawn there by the thief themself—daring them, taunting them. Wonsik couldn't decide whether he should feel belittled or flattered. 

He thought about saying something to Taekwoon, asking what he thought of the situation, but it was too silent and still to break. Wonsik shuffled a little, disturbing the calm, but he was not Taekwoon and could not remain still as a rock.

The way the temple was built, there were few places where someone could enter or exit. The main way was guarded as well, and it didn't seem to be their thief's style to barge through the entrance, knocking the guards unconscious. They seemed to prefer to be a shadow, unfindable, unseeable, invisible. It was driving Wonsik nuts.

Wonsik tapped Taekwoon on the shoulder, gestured to the side with his head. Taekwoon nodded, a blur of a shadow, his eyes following Wonsik as he circled past Taekwoon to draw closer to the temple walls. He stood, back flat against a tree. Lanterns were hung along the walls, lighting it bright. Wonsik briefly wondered whose job it was to light them each night. He was still wondering this when he caught sight of a black shadow flip lithely over the wall.

"Taekwoon!" Wonsik yelled over his shoulder.

"Go around!" Taekwoon was already streaking past Wonsik.

Wonsik cursed, taking off in the other direction. He could barely see Taekwoon as he sprinted towards their thief, a blur of a shadow. Their thief paused, glanced towards Taekwoon. They were wearing a mask, but Wonsik could swear that they were laughing in the brief moment their eyes met.

And then Taekwoon was on them. Wonsik ran towards the two of them, almost overwhelmed by a sense of awe as he watched them exchange blows, their profiles dark against the light of the temple, clear above the wall. No, not even exchange—Taekwoon kept catching empty air, the thief not doing much better, each one missing by a hair's breadth.

And then they were gone.

Wonsik wasn't quite sure how it happened: one moment there were two of them, and then Taekwoon seemed to disappear, and then the thief had disappeared into the night as if he'd never even been there.

"Taekwoon?" Wonsik pulled to a stop, in front of Taekwoon collapsed on the ground. "Are you hurt?"

Taekwoon sat up, motions slow, his eyes slightly unfocussed. He shook his head, his expression pulled into a snarl, teeth grit and bared. "He got away," he growled. He stared at the hand Wonsik offered him as if he was going to knock it away, before he took it and let Wonsik pull him to his feet.

"Well at least that's one question answered," Wonsik muttered. He shrugged at Taekwoon's frown. "Man or woman."

"Too tall for a woman," Taekwoon said. A deeper frown. "I think. They wore a mask and a hood."

"They got away," Wonsik echoed Taekwoon. "With the vase?" Taekwoon nodded. " _While_ they were fighting?" Another nod, Taekwoon's expression growing stormier. Wonsik rubbed at his temples, shaking his head in slight disbelief.

"No wonder they were bold enough to tell us about this," Wonsik said. He sighed, nodding towards the road, hidden from their view.

"Show off," Taekwoon muttered. He started walking, and Wonsik eyed his slight limp that Taekwoon was doing a very good job of hiding. It must have been a bad fall that Taekwoon had taken, if he hadn't immediately chased after their thief.

"He's saying he's good enough that we can't get him even if we know where and what he'll be stealing," Wonsik said with a sigh. "Have to admit he's got guts."

"Show off," Taekwoon repeated.

He was, Wonsik knew, completely right.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

Wonsik slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He'd been directed to this small hall when he'd asked after the Eleventh Prince's whereabouts, the sweet strains of a stringed instrument clear even from outside, slipping out through the open windows and into the sun-lit afternoon. The graceful figure on the stage at front was brilliant in his rich red dress, the sun pouring in and casting him in radiance. Despite his care of silence, Jaehwan turned back at Wonsik's entrance and beckoned him forward. Wonsik acknowledged him with a slight bow, before making his way to sit by Jaehwan.

Jaehwan said nothing, merely turned back towards the dancer. Wonsik would not have wanted him to do anything else—it was hard to look away from him, from the elegant lines of his body, the shimmer of light against the thin sword in his hand, the way the fabric fluttered behind him as he seemed to almost float across the stage. Wonsik thought he recognised the young man who was playing accompaniment, but it was the briefest flicker of thought before his attention was drawn back towards the dancer.

It was hard to look away from him. 

His body was lithe, and watching him dance was like watching the water in a stream, the breeze on a spring day. Long, fine hair followed his movements, decorated with jeweled ornaments. His skin was too dark to be truly beautiful, yet his eyes shone, sharp and entrancing, and in the brief moment their eyes met, Wonsik's heart thudded a little louder, and a smile seemed to flicker across the dancer's lips.

His sword seemed to be an extension of him, so fluid his motions were. His fingers skimmed along the blade's edge, his sleeve following in their wake. 

There could be no way to describe his dance but mesmerising, enchanting, enthralling. It was too soon that it ended, too soon that the dancer drew his hands together, bowing towards Jaehwan.

"Beautiful," Jaehwan declared, clapping. "Absolutely beautiful."

Wonsik clapped as well, enthusiastically. "Beautiful," he agreed.

"My Lord is too kind," the dancer said, and Wonsik's heart caught in his throat at those few words; his voice was as lovely as the rest of him.

"What's your name?" Wonsik suddenly said. He could feel Jaehwan's eyes turn sharply on him.

"Your humble servant is named Hakyeon," he said.

"Hakyeon," Wonsik repeated, nodding. "You're new here?"

"Yes, and he deserves it doesn't he," Jaehwan cut in, grinning brightly at Wonsik. Wonsik nodded in agreement, even as Jaehwan turned away from the dancer to face Wonsik. "So what did you come for?"

"With the Prince's permission, your servant will take their leave," the dancer, Hakyeon, said, bowing again. Jaehwan nodded, a brief dismissal.

"I'd like to see you again," Wonsik said, and Hakyeon bowed.

"Young Master is too kind, but if it would please you, your servant looks forward to dancing for the Young Master again," Hakyeon said, before retreating. 

Wonsik watched him go, the fabric draping off of his narrow shoulders, his sleeves gathered, his sword sheathed. With a gesture from Jaehwan, everyone else left the hall as well, leaving only the two of them seated at the low table. Wonsik poured them both tea, first for Jaehwan and then for himself.

"He's not from the city?" Wonsik asked.

"Yes, but he dances beautifully," Jaehwan said with a wistful sigh. "His voice is pleasant as well. I've decided I will keep him after all."

"I agree," Wonsik said, and Jaehwan's eyebrow quirked a little as he glanced towards Wonsik.

"Someone's taken with him," Jaehwan said, a little too gleeful for Wonsik's taste.

"He dances well!" Wonsik protested, but he couldn't hide from Jaehwan's pointed looks. He sighed, and then drew out small lacquered box and handed it to Jaehwan. He gestured for Jaehwan to open it.

"I found this outside my door this morning," Wonsik said. A pause. "My room door. Not the main gate."

"Wow, a gift from your thief?" Jaehwan asked. He undid the clasp and opened the lid to reveal a delicate glass flower. Jaehwan whistled. 

"And this," Wonsik said. He handed Jaehwan the folded sheet of paper that had been pinned under the box's weight.

It'd been two nights ago since their spectacular failure in catching their thief, and Wonsik had been almost surprised when there had been no note left behind at the scene when they'd been called there the morning after. Taekwoon had been a stormy presence, the nuns giving them a wide, wide berth because of it. Wonsik couldn't even be bothered to tell him to turn it down. 

He'd been much less surprised to find the gift, as Jaehwan had put it, this morning. Almost resigned. He hadn't told Taekwoon yet—he didn't want Taekwoon's foul mood to grow too foul when he was in the middle of treating a patient. It could wait until tonight.

" _Good job solving the puzzle! Better luck next time! Your friend's very good, I was a little worried, but it all turned out okay. I almost thought you hadn't figured it out, it's a good thing I didn't let my guard down. I had to get a friend to make this for me, I'm still learning and I'm not very good yet. It's pretty, isn't it? Take good care of it, don't let it get stolen!_ " Jaehwan read out, his voice almost sing-song. Wonsik wanted to groan.

"He writes like a five year old," Jaehwan noted.

"The letters are getting longer," Wonsik said. 

"You know, I was kinda joking about him courting you, but I think he really _is_ courting you," Jaehwan said, looking between the glass flower and the letter, eyes a little wide.

"Oh, and Taekwoon said they're a he, so that's one puzzle settled," Wonsik said, steering the conversation onto safer ground.

"You saw him?" Jaehwan perked up with interest.

Wonsik nodded. "He's tall, a skilled fighter—he bested Taekwoon."

"Ooh, I bet he's not happy about _that_ ," Jaehwan said, grinning a little too widely. Wonsik decided not to say anything to that.

"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know," Wonsik said. He sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've given up on ever catching him."

"An uncatchable thief," Jaehwan mused. "Are you sure it's not because he's courting you?"

"Of course not," Wonsik snapped.

"I guess you don't have that many clues to go on, huh," Jaehwan said.

"Other than that clock that went nowhere," Wonsik said glumly. "And that he's tall, scholarly, cultured, and all around skilled."

"It's not like you have much else to do," Jaehwan said with a small shrug. He refilled their tea, brushing off Wonsik's attempts to correct his negligence. Jaehwan had never been the most particular about court manners.

"Taekwoon tied up the murder too quickly," Wonsik agreed. Irritation flickered across Jaehwan's face—Wonsik resisted the urge to point out Jaehwan hadn't done any work on it and hadn't particularly wanted to.

"You should just take the imperial officer exams," Jaehwan said. He prodded at the glass flower. "It's not like you have anything else to do."

"I suppose," Wonsik said with a sigh. His father had not so subtly suggested it as well. "I don't think I'll do very well."

"Why not? You're smart, kind of," Jaehwan said.

"Thanks for the confidence," Wonsik said, smiling wryly. "I've never been good at book learning."

"I could always put in a word for you," Jaehwan said.

"That kinda makes the exam useless, doesn't it?" Wonsik said. Jaehwan shrugged.

Wonsik scratched at his neck, staring down at the flower that Jaehwan was playing with. He reached across the table to take it back, Jaehwan easily relinquishing it.

"I suppose I should be going," Wonsik said. He stood, bowing briefly towards Jaehwan.

"Wait," Jaehwan said, before Wonsik could even turn. He was grinning, and Wonsik arched a brow. "Don't you want to know where Hakyeon's staying?

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"Well, this is a surprise."

Wonsik's mouth opened, and then closed, and then he very visibly swallowed. Bright eyes greeted him, laughing, and there was very little surprise in them. Unlike Wonsik.

"Come in," Hakyeon said. He stepped back into the room and Wonsik put his hand down—there was little point of knocking when the door had opened before you'd had a chance. Wonsik followed the dancer into the small guest house, closing the door behind him.

The room was bright and well lit, and Wonsik took a moment to orient himself as Hakyeon gestured for him to sit. It was much smaller and simpler than the rooms Wonsik was used to staying in when he was at the palace, which made a great deal of sense. There was only the low table and the bed, with no elaborate decorations to fill the room. Wonsik sat, followed Hakyeon with his eyes as the other man fetched a small bottle of wine and two cups.

"Master Kim Wonsik, right?" Hakyeon asked. His smile could almost be called mischievous. His face was bare, makeup wiped clean, his hair unpinned and barely bound; it was almost uncomfortably intimate after their initial meeting, although Wonsik couldn't have said why. His manner was easy, relaxed, some outermost layer of propriety shed leaving him with an odd sense of vulnerability that Wonsik couldn't quite put his finger on. Even as the thought flit through his mind, it seemed to have already vanished like smoke, dispelled by unhurried movements, confident and nonchalant.

"Y-yeah?"

Hakyeon laughed, his eyes crinkling. "I may have run into Prince Jaehwan after we met," Hakyeon said. He poured for them both, sleeve gathered delicately beneath his arm. It was with perfect form, illustrated grace. He had, Wonsik noted with a detached mind, very pretty fingers and very pretty hands.

"I was hoping you'd come," Hakyeon added. Wonsik nearly choked, his hand stuttering as he reached towards the cup.

"I, uh, your dancing was very impressive," Wonsik said. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing at his neck. "Sorry, I'm not usually like this, you just caught me a little off guard."

"Ah, did I? I suppose I'll have to apologise," Hakyeon said. He picked up his cup, and held it up towards Wonsik in a toast. Wonsik acknowledged it, returning the gesture. He couldn't help but glance out of the side of his vision as he drank, watching the way Hakyeon carefully hid behind his other hand, turned slightly away, graceful and elegant in this as everything he seemed to do.

Jaehwan had led him past this room earlier today after they'd left the hall, wandering the grounds in no discernible pattern as they chatted of more mundane things—or rather, as Jaehwan caught him up on all the latest palace gossip. It had been too casual to be casual, the way Jaehwan had gestured at the door which Wonsik had most recently passed through: 'the dancer just now's staying there while he's here,' Jaehwan had said, his tone leaving very little need to guess at what Jaehwan was hinting, his smirk eliminating all doubt. Wonsik had flushed bright red.

"I only happened to pass by," Wonsik said, after they'd both set their cups down on the table. A delicate arch of the eyebrow. "Took a walk to clear my head and I thought I would give my greetings since I happened to walk by your door."

"Oh? You live in the palace as well?"

Wonsik shook his head. "The Emperor gave me permission to come and go freely, at least to Jaehwan's residence," he said with another awkward laugh.

"I didn't realise you were such an important person," Hakyeon said. He had a delightful laugh. "I saw someone standing outside the door for quite some time and thought I might as well welcome them in. You _were_ thinking of coming in, weren't you?"

Wonsik nodded.

"This is quite a ways for a walk," Hakyeon said, before Wonsik had a chance to gather his thoughts. "You must really have wanted to see me."

"Ah, no, I was really just...taking a walk to clear my head," Wonsik said again. Which was, in many ways, the truth. It was something else that had led him here to the palace, a destination that had been planted in his mind as a seed much earlier in the day, sprouting when he hadn't had any when he'd stepped outside the door. He had briefly considered calling on Taekwoon, but Taekwoon had seemed pre-occupied when Wonsik had passed by. He'd tell Taekwoon about the gift tomorrow.

"So you weren't coming to see me?" Hakyeon asked, light and teasing. Wonsik began to slowly shake his head, when Hakyeon's expression immediately turned into a sense of resigned disappointment.

"I was hoping you were," Hakyeon said. He laughed softly, to himself, at himself. "Forgive me, Young Master, your humble servant has been rather presumptuous."

"You were?"

"Please forget I said that," Hakyeon said. His eyes were downcast, turned away from Wonsik.

Wonsik bit briefly at the inside of his lip. "I was hoping to find you," Wonsik admitted, words measured, gauging Hakyeon's reaction. It was like the dawning of the sun, the way a tentative smile returned to Hakyeon's expression, the uplift of his eyes, and then something that Wonsik couldn't quite name as Hakyeon shifted sideways, his robes whispering with the movement.

He was no longer wearing the delicate silk robes that he had danced in, trading the bright red for something paler, softer, an unobtrusive blue of plain spun cloth. Wonsik watched him as Hakyeon drew closer to Wonsik, moving to the side of the table. 

"So you did come to see me," Hakyeon said, and there was almost a purr in his voice that sent blood rushing straight down to the base of Wonsik's stomach. This close, the word _feline_ swished through Wonsik's thoughts as he met Hakyeon's eyes; the shape, or the almost predatory look, or simply how lovely they were. Wonsik swallowed, Hakyeon now so close that he was all too easy to reach out and touch, looking at Wonsik with the hint of a smile.

"I, uh, yeah?" Wonsik stammered.

Hakyeon was very close now, and he smiled in a self-satisfied manner. That brief moment of dejection was gone, as if it had never happened. Wonsik could only stay seated, frozen, as Hakyeon leaned closer towards him, was long off any sort of chair and was on the floor next to Wonsik. 

"Jaehwan already said he wanted to keep you," Wonsik blurted out.

Silence rung loud behind his words, Hakyeon arrested, stone-still, the rustle of his clothes vanished from the room. A faint flush had risen in Hakyeon's cheeks, and Wonsik bit at the inside of his cheek—he had spoken horribly out of turn.

But the moment was gone in an instant, and the corners of Hakyeon's lips lifted in a smile. "Do you really think I'd have so little self respect?" Hakyeon murmured, staring steadily into Wonsik's eyes, and yet, there had been a flash of triumph so brief that Wonsik wondered if he had imagined it. "Or is it that you don't realise how handsome you are?"

Wonsik tried to say something, but all that came out was garbled silence, and he shut his mouth to preserve what little dignity he had left.

"Just 'Jaehwan', hm? Although if you're so close with the Prince…" Hakyeon laughed at his own words and then sat up. He was still seated on the floor, his legs folded to the side, only half covered by his robes. There was a small hint of a shrug, the sense of a head tilted in consideration. 

"He also agrees you dance well," Wonsik said, words a little too mumbled. This only drew a delighted laugh, and fingers resting lightly on Wonsik's thigh, the touch sparking through him like electricity.

"I'm only teasing," Hakyeon said. His smile was kinder now, softer, and Wonsik was briefly struck by how nuanced his expressions were, and also by the lines about his eyes, wan and weary. The fingers on Wonsik's thigh trailed slightly upwards, testing, a question that Wonsik wondered what the best answer would be.

Which was, Wonsik realised half a second later, very silly. If he couldn't put even this much together, what sort of lousy investigator would he be?

A very beautiful man was resting his fingers on Wonsik's leg and had given Wonsik every indication that he would be very, very receptive to Wonsik kissing him.

So he did.

Wonsik placed his hand behind Hakyeon's head, tugging at his arm until Hakyeon was half on his lap. His arm was thin but firm, some detached part of Wonsik's brain noted as he kissed Hakyeon, the dancer bringing his arms about Wonsik's neck, his waist, soft breaths brushing against Wonsik's lips. Wonsik sucked at Hakyeon's lips gently, experimentally—was rewarded with a small laugh as Hakyeon pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, Hakyeon's own eyes crinkled in amusement.

"There we go," Hakyeon murmured. He dipped closer to Wonsik, kissed him softly, gently, his lips soft and sweet. Hakyeon hummed; pleasure, acknowledgement, and Wonsik seemed to only spare half his mind to kissing Hakyeon back, too absorbed by the faint scent of flowers on Hakyeon's skin, the firm muscles in his back, shifting under Wonsik's hand, beneath the fabric with every minute motion.

Wonsik didn't know how long they stayed like that, Hakyeon drawing back every now and then, leaving Wonsik to lose himself in the light shining from Hakyeon's eyes. Did know when Hakyeon stood, tugging Wonsik to his feet as well.

"Let me see you," Hakyeon said, his voice low in a manner that thrummed through Wonsik's veins, left him no doubt as to what Hakyeon said.

He followed Hakyeon to the bed, watched as Hakyeon drew off his outer jacket, and then undid the fasteners, letting his clothes slide off his shoulders, pool on the floor. Watched as Hakyeon slowly bared himself entirely, his skin dark and golden and glowing. Wonsik's mouth grew dry.

Hakyeon sat down on the bed, his eyes on Wonsik, and it was the unabashed manner with which Hakyeon sat there that had Wonsik removing his own clothes—far more slowly, shivering a little when he stood there, chest bare, Hakyeon's eyes devouring him with interest.

"As I thought," Hakyeon said with a small quirk of a smile, "you are lovely."

"You are," Wonsik blurted out without thinking. Blood immediately rushed to his cheeks and Wonsik looked down, away. Hakyeon stood, was in front of him, hand on Wonsik's chest. Wonsik shivered at the touch, looked up sharply at Hakyeon, but Hakyeon wasn't looking at him, was looking down at Wonsik's body. Wonsik swallowed as Hakyeon ran his hand down Wonsik's chest, Wonsik shuddering.

"I am not often struck speechless, but I may be right now," Hakyeon said, and his own voice was low and hoarse despite the teasing quality of his words. Wonsik stared at Hakyeon, then looked down when Hakyeon's fingers had fallen to the waist of Wonsik's pants. Wonsik sucked in a sharp gasp of air, but didn't stop Hakyeon as Hakyeon slowly undid the ties, nodded a little when Hakyeon glanced up, exhaled deeply as Hakyeon pushed his pants down past his hips, his thighs.

"I have to say, I wasn't expecting such nice legs," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik could only blush.

"Um. Thanks?" he said, and he cursed himself for his coherence, or lack thereof. Hakyeon laughed, soft and clear, and then he was pulling Wonsik onto the bed.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit less prepared than I would have liked," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik didn't have time to ask him what he meant before Wonsik was being pushed flat onto the bed. Hakyeon's hair tumbled over his shoulder, brushing against Wonsik's arm as Hakyeon bent over him.

"Wonsik—may I call you that? Young Master is a bit of a mouthful for times like this," Hakyeon said, and Hakyeon may have said he'd been struck speechless, but Wonsik felt like the world was spinning and pushing far faster than he could ever hope to keep up, never mind respond coherently. Wonsik nodded, and was rewarded with a bright smile.

"I feel like a very lucky man right now, Wonsik," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik's name coming out of Hakyeon's mouth was doing all sorts of things to Wonsik's body.

_I should be the one saying that_ , flickered through Wonsik's mind but he couldn't seem to quite get the words out. Hard to, when there were hands roaming all across your body, when the man on top of you was slim and lithe and narrow waisted and well muscled all at once. There were fine white lines, incongruous, and Wonsik ran his finger down one along the side of Hakyeon's body.

"What happened here?" he asked, some semblance of coherent thought.

"Follies of youth," Hakyeon answered, and the dry twist of his mouth was out of place and Wonsik almost regretted asking, but then Hakyeon was running his finger down the center of Wonsik's chest, along the ridges of bone, buried beneath skin.

"And to think you thought I wanted you for anything else," Hakyeon murmured, and this was into the crook of Wonsik's neck and Wonsik sucked in a sharp breath of air. "You're even lovelier than I thought, Wonsik."

"I should be the one saying that," Wonsik managed to choke out this time. It was a wonder, with how Hakyeon's hand had trailed lower, was resting on the jut of Wonsik's hip. He was expecting and he also wasn't, Hakyeon's touch drifting towards the inside of Wonsik's thighs—and then Wonsik cried out, loud and helpless.

Wonsik lost track of things, a little after that.

It seemed both ages and far too soon before he lay there, breathless, the dancer curled half on top of him. Sweat glistened off his skin, and Wonsik was struck by a sudden desire to lick down his neck. He hadn't noticed how long Hakyeon's neck was, not until this moment. With his hair pulled back, the mole just by his hairline and another a little further down were visible, and Wonsik wanted to kiss those too. Wonsik could feel Hakyeon's sweat against his own skin, Hakyeon warm, his touch damp and slick, and glowing even more, if it were possible.

It seemed a shame, and with great reluctance, that Wonsik made to sit up, pushing Hakyeon gently to the side. He felt strange, off-kilter, his body flushed and relaxed but his heart suddenly flipping in his chest in strange, unpredictable rhythms, his throat oddly dry. Wonsik swallowed, stared at Hakyeon who was lounging on the bed, propped up on an elbow as he gazed up at Wonsik.

"Leaving so soon?" Hakyeon asked.

Wonsik blinked, trying to process what Hakyeon meant. He settled for nodding. He suddenly felt very naked and bare, and he flushed, even though Hakyeon was just as naked. Wonsik was not used to such scrutiny, and he hastened to dress.

"I've taken a long walk," Wonsik said ruefully as he tugged on his pants. "I should get back before my people wonder where I am."

"Oh? I would have thought someone like you, they'd be used to you not returning until dawn," Hakyeon said. He smiled, pleasant, something more lurking too obviously under his voice, peeled back by his words.

"I… don't do this. Much," Wonsik said. His ears were colouring, and Wonsik resisted the urge to rub at them, just quickly finished dressing.

"Well if you're right about Prince Jaehwan, I suppose it's alright," Hakyeon said. He sat up, crossing his legs. Wonsik found his eyes drifting towards them, and then quickly looked away—but not before Hakyeon caught him looking and smirked knowingly.

"It's alright?" Wonsik asked.

"Mm, and I'll be better prepared, next time," Hakyeon said. He stretched and Wonsik froze, admiring the lines of Hakyeon's body, the colour of his skin. He caught himself staring, tugged at his jacket as if it needed fixing.

"Next time," Wonsik repeated. "Right. Uh, I'll be going—good night," Wonsik said.

"I look forward to dancing for you again," Hakyeon said—Wonsik couldn't quite tell if there was supposed to be another meaning to that or not.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The sun was too bright and hot, the streets too dirty and noisy, and Wonsik really hadn't had nearly enough sleep.

"There's something bothering me," Taekwoon had said, showing up at Wonsik's door just barely after the sun had. His steward, unfortunately used to such things, had ushered Taekwoon in without a second thought, rousing Wonsik at the same time. At least he hadn't noticed the late—or early, depending on how one counted—hour at which Wonsik had returned. It had taken him quite some time to fall off to a fitful sleep after Wonsik had washed as best he could, and he'd been planning on sleeping well past dawn to make up for it all.

Being dragged by Taekwoon into the city had certainly not been in his plans.

"This couldn't wait?" Wonsik asked, still rubbing blearily at his eyes.

Taekwoon had shoved a bun into his hands, and was eating his second one himself. Wonsik nibbled at it a morosely—he'd much rather be asleep, in bed, possibly dreaming about what had happened the previous night while convincing himself it was not a dream. A flash of arousal swept through him at the thought, and Wonsik quickly turned his attention back to Taekwoon. Much safer.

Taekwoon shook his head, and only quickened his steps.

"What's bothering you?" Wonsik asked.

A shrug. "Something," Taekwoon said. Extremely elucidating.

Wonsik pursed his lips and flipped through cases in his mind.

"If I remember correctly, the Jang family: Master Jang is the Minister for public affairs, while the elder son is an official in the agriculture department. Five weeks ago, they reported the loss of a large amount of money, as well as some smaller items: the Lady's hair ornaments, a carved jade bracelet, and a belt sash," Wonsik recited. He tapped his fan against his hand as he thought, following Taekwoon's fast pace. They dodged a cart laden with produce, nearly running over Wonsik's foot.

Taekwoon grunted an agreement.

"I thought we agreed that the amount of money for such a high ranking family was a pittance, and that the other stolen items were easily replaceable?" Wonsik frowned.

"Yes," Taekwoon said. "Something's still bothering me."

Wonsik sighed deeply.

"You're not taking this seriously," Taekwoon said. His glance at Wonsik was loaded with accusation and Wonsik quickly looked away.

"Well, it just didn't seem that important," Wonsik tried. "Besides, if there's anything we've learned about this thief, it's that he's very careful."

"He slipped up once," Taekwoon said. "He might've slipped up before. Or again."

They arrived presently at the gate of the Jang manor. Taekwoon rapped at the door several times, and then nudged Wonsik forward.

"Who is it?"

"Kim Wonsik," Wonsik said with an internal sigh, as the door opened and the steward of the Jang family stepped out.

"Master Kim," the steward said, bowing. He lead them to an entrance hall. "Please come in, your humble servant will go inform the Lady that you are here."

"Take your time," Wonsik said, ignoring Taekwoon's intense stare at the back of his head. The steward briefly met Taekwoon's eyes when he looked up, and then hastily turned and disappeared into the compound. Taekwoon had a tendency to do that to people he didn't like.

"He didn't do anything to you," Wonsik said to Taekwoon.

"He's incompetent," Taekwoon said offhandedly. "Besides, it's amusing."

Wonsik shook his head in exasperation as he paced the room. Something was bothering Taekwoon. He tried to think back to when they'd first come, five weeks ago. No note, that time, but it was so oddly precise that it seemed like there was no one else who could have done it. None of the stolen objects had been near each other, had been in separate rooms, in fact, and it seemed unlikely there was more than one such thief haunting their city.

"Do you remember who the bracelet belonged to?" Taekwoon asked.

Wonsik frowned as he turned at Taekwoon's abrupt question, hands behind his back. The youngest son, still a student, studying for his second round of examinations, about two years older than Wonsik. The bracelet had been his—dark green jade of middling quality, engraved with flowers interspersed with graceful shaped orbs that tapered into slender tails, the symbol of protection and luck. It had clearly been made for a lady. He'd clearly been courting someone, there'd been several gifts for a lady in the room—a hair ornament, newly bought, gold and jeweled and delicate. A necklace, unworn, of similarly elaborate decoration. He'd said as much, when questioned. And yet—

"The bracelet wasn't a gift," Wonsik muttered, and Taekwoon nodded, a grim smile, but a pleased look in his eyes. It wasn't the sort of thing the young man would give, it was too simple, plain—but it had been well worn. No, it _had_ belonged to a lady, yet the young man had implied it wasn't so. Taekwoon was right. There was a story here.

Wonsik was about to spin it further when the steward returned. He glanced at Taekwoon, and had to hide a grin.

They found themselves several hours—and several snacks—later, well outside the city. An odd expression was on Taekwoon's face, if you knew what to look for, beyond the passive blankness that few people bothered to look past.

"I think you made the right decision," Wonsik said. They walked back to their horses, leading them slowly back to the main road. Taekwoon was still silent, although his eyes flickered back to the cluster of houses they were now leaving.

"We learned something about our thief," Wonsik said, keeping an eye on Taekwoon. Taekwoon gave the barest shrug, if it could be called that. "Maybe we'll find something if we go back and look at the other stolen items."

"Like the clock?" Taekwoon said, and there was still undoubtable bitterness there. Like this, it had been a lead they'd started following full of hope but had dead-ended in a manner not too dissimilar from this.

An item, returned to the rightful owner.

"He's good," Wonsik admitted grudgingly with a little too much awe. "If he weren't a thief, he'd make a good investigator. Unless...he is one?"

Taekwoon shook his head.

"You're probably right. Yet, to trace a bracelet stolen first from the young miss by her former friend, and then taken by the Jang son when she rejected his advances… My instincts say that the bracelet was the real target, and everything else was incidental," Wonsik said.

Taekwoon nodded, and Wonsik bit back a sigh. He still hadn't told Taekwoon about the note the thief had left the previous day—maybe now would be a good time, when his mood was already low. It'd been a while since Taekwoon had said so little like this.

"A gentleman thief," Wonsik mused. "Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Or, returning to the poor in this case, while leaving a little something for everyone around them."

"If he hadn't left them the money, they might have sold the bracelet, like the clock had been sold," Taekwoon said. Wonsik looked at him, but Taekwoon was still staring ahead. Wonsik's horse pulled a little at her halter, and Wonsik turned away from Taekwoon to soothe her. "The Jang family didn't need the money. Or the bracelet."

"I wonder what he did with the belt sash," Wonsik said thoughtfully.

"Wear it?" Taekwoon suggested.

Wonsik laughed. "I suppose," he said. "From what Master Jang said, it was a very handsome, expensive, well made belt sash."

"And when we find him, he can hang by it," Taekwoon said—Wonsik nearly froze at how firm his words were, the harsh slant of his eyes.

"I...I don't think that's necessary?" Wonsik said. He sighed, shaking his head. He could tell—anyone could—Taekwoon was beyond annoyed or irritated, and had gone straight to cold anger, likely born of frustration and Taekwoon's own short temper. Wonsik didn't blame him, not particularly, but it was still jarring to hear those words come from Taekwoon's mouth. He couldn't remember the last time Taekwoon had been so viciously eager to bring someone to justice, was usually content to let justice play out its own due course. Then again, Taekwoon had always had violent tendencies.

Taekwoon gave him a strange look, his brows drawn close. "He'll be hanged," he said simply.

"Yeah, but with that belt sash?" Wonsik asked. Taekwoon was right, of course. That, or beheaded. Clearly Taekwoon had already decided which one he wanted.

A shrug. "It might break," Taekwoon said, a small pause of contemplation, jut of his lip. And then: "you don't want to catch him."

Wonsik bit his lip, turning back to his horse. He could feel Taekwoon's eyes boring into the back of his head. "He doesn't seem that bad," he said.

"Because he leaves you gifts?" Taekwoon asked, voice dangerously quiet, softer even than usual.

Wonsik shook his head. "Just, it doesn't seem to be hurting anyone, you know?"

"What about that vase?" Taekwoon asked. "That was dear to the temple."

"Yeah, well…"

"And the time he stole the painting that was a _wedding gift_ from her father?"

Wonsik stroked the side of his horse's face. "It's not murder," he said.

"It's still a crime," Taekwoon said, and this time, Wonsik did sigh. He paused, just long enough to mount his horse. A moment later, he heard Taekwoon do the same.

"You're right," Wonsik said, offering Taekwoon a weak smile. "I guess I should let you know he left a note about that vase."

"That shit stick," Taekwoon growled, and then kicked his horse into a gallop. The only two people Wonsik had ever heard Taekwoon call such names were Jaehwan, and the thief. But Taekwoon was right, Wonsik was reluctant to catch him.

Technically, Wonsik wasn't obligated to. This wasn't, after all, his job. He just liked solving puzzles, that was all.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It was early afternoon when they neared the retreat, the mountains that were omnipresent in the distance growing close enough that the peaks could be easily seen. Ginkgo trees lined the road, casting much welcomed shade onto the riders. They could see the stately roofs, built along the gentle slope of the base of the mountains, rising among the trees. From this far, it was impossible to see the fine details, but Wonsik had heard about the famed roof charms here. It seemed that nature had truly come together to build the perfect place—the white foam of a waterfall could be just seen, carving out a path along the rocky crags of the mountains, through the trees.

Wonsik kicked his horse forward a few steps to ride up along Jaehwan, the eleventh prince dressed today in robes of rich blue, resplendent in silk. He turned his head at Wonsik's approach, shooting him a wide grin. 

"Pretty, isn't it," Jaehwan said. It was Wonsik's first time here at arguably one of the greatest imperial villas, and it was as awe-striking as he had heard.

"Thanks for inviting along Taekwoon, by the way," Wonsik said. A flicker of irritation passed across Jaehwan's face, although Wonsik suspected it was at least a little exaggerated.

"He's useful if anyone gets killed," Jaehwan muttered. Wonsik raised an eyebrow. "And everyone else is so _old_."

"True," Wonsik said, glancing ahead at the rest of their party, consisting of several high ranking ministers—in other words, old—and other officials of the court—also old. Other than the three of them, only the guards and servants could, by any stretch be not called old. The Crown Prince, while not old, was certainly not young, and had never been young enough in Jaehwan's lifetime to have been a playmate. When the tenth prince had taken abruptly ill, the emperor had asked Jaehwan to be a representative for the court, and it had seemed only natural to Jaehwan to ask Wonsik along. 

"I didn't think he would come," Jaehwan added.

"Oh?"

" _You_ don't have any responsibilities, but I thought _he_ did," Jaehwan said. "Who would've guessed he could come without notice too? Obviously you could, all you do is read enough to study for the imperial exams even if you'll never take them, but he didn't need to."

Wonsik laughed at Jaehwan's disgruntled face.

"He has a pretty free schedule," Wonsik said. He paused, giving Jaehwan a sly look which Jaehwan ignored to continue projecting exaggerated irritation. "Which you know about."

"Ugh," Jaehwan grumbled.

Wonsik chuckled, glancing over his shoulder where Taekwoon was riding, trailing far behind the rest of the group. He'd been quiet most of the ride, although he'd been drinking in the scenery with deep interest. Now, he was staring ahead, some vague direction, perhaps at nothing at all. He'd jumped at the chance to tag along, which hadn't been much of a surprise, even if the invitation had been extended by Jaehwan. Secretly, Wonsik thought that the two of them didn't hate each other as much as they acted, although he wished to the heavens that they _didn't_ act like that and leave him to mediate like the only adult between the three of them, even if he was younger in age than them both.

It had been over two weeks since the last theft, two weeks since they'd last had any sort of case at all. It had been oddly silent, but Wonsik suspected the oppressive heat might have had something to do with it. Here, the heat seemed to be lessened by the mountain breeze.

It was also two weeks since Wonsik had met, and last seen Hakyeon.

Jaehwan had, as he'd said, extended an offer to the dancer, rather than ordering him to stay, immediately. That had surprised Wonsik; Jaehwan allowing him a full month to decide had surprised Wonsik even more.

"The Prince is too kind," Hakyeon had said, prostrating himself. "The Prince has bestowed upon your humble servant Hakyeon far greater an honour than deserved."

Hakyeon had, of course, accepted and promised a return within the month, once he attended to some matters with his family. Once he joined Jaehwan's retinue, it would be difficult for him to leave the palace or travel so freely, so Wonsik understood. He had lent Hakyeon the use of a horse: " _someone's_ fond of him," Jaehwan had cackled afterwards. Wonsik suspected he'd turned quite a shade of red.

"He can go and return more quickly," Wonsik had said, but that hadn't stopped Jaehwan from making rather insinuating remarks every time they'd met, since.

Wonsik hadn't, for obvious reasons, told Taekwoon. Taekwoon might have seemed the strong, silent type to others, but he was also one of the biggest gossips that Wonsik knew, behind closed doors and to people he knew. Which was a thankfully small number of people, but rumours fled, and before he knew it, he'd be getting a letter from his father asking Wonsik why he was courting a lowly dancer, and a strong suggestion of so-and-so's daughter being available or intelligent or accomplished or some other positive quality or other. No, this was best something kept to himself—and Jaehwan, but that couldn't be helped. And his steward, if things went well upon Hakyeon's return, but his steward was a discrete man, and with his father having lived away from the capital for so long, his steward was more Wonsik's man than his father's. 

"Thanks for coming," Jaehwan suddenly said. His smile was a little lopsided, and wholly genuine. Wonsik couldn't help but smile back, reaching over to pat Jaehwan on the arm, their horses drawing perhaps a little too close together. 

"You know I'd do anything for you," Wonsik said, chuckling.

Jaehwan screwed up his face cutely. "Save that for your lover," he said. 

Wonsik coughed and looked away. He gauged they were less than ten minutes away, and glanced back at Taekwoon again. His friend seemed a little fidgety, and Wonsik caught Jaehwan's attention, gesturing back towards Taekwoon.

"I'll find you after we're all settled," Jaehwan said.

"Yeah, sure," Wonsik said, and turned his horse back towards Taekwoon, smiling a little at Taekwoon's barely visible relief.

  

  

  

  

  

  

He found Taekwoon sitting in a pavilion, a book on his lap, tea set by the table. The book lay forgotten, Taekwoon's eyes fixed on the water, at the lily pads, the fish that flashed in colours beneath the clear surface. Sometimes, Wonsik forgot that Taekwoon lived in a house without even a small courtyard, but he was reminded of that now, and every time he found Taekwoon in such places. Even Wonsik, who was far more used to such sights, was taken in by the beauty of these gardens, of their magnificence, the sheer size. Poetry was written about such places: _the pines bent in sunset's wind_ , _water's mirror disturbed by a single stone, ripples fading beneath the bridges_. He had been walking for quite some time, and had only found Taekwoon now, tucked far away, in one of the corners.

Jaehwan had, as promised, found Wonsik earlier, and they had spent some time in Jaehwan's rooms before someone had come to fetch Jaehwan and Wonsik realised he hadn't seen Taekwoon since they had been lead to their guest rooms. It had taken some asking to find where Young Master Taekwoon was staying, and Wonsik had been somewhat surprised to find the room empty.

Yet, Taekwoon made an elegant sight, as if he belonged here, and nowhere else. His long fingers rested on the table, pale and slender, the callouses and scars on his hands hidden from view. His dress may have been plain with few embroideries, certainly nothing like Jaehwan's silk robes, yet he still appeared somehow stately, majestic. His earrings glinted in the late afternoon light, flashes of silver like the sun against the surface of the pond itself. At Wonsik's approach, Taekwoon turned, the hard set of his eyes quickly softening when he saw who it was.

"You found me," Taekwoon said. The gentle quality of his voice, too, seemed to be part and parcel of the quiet peace of this garden.

"Somehow," Wonsik said with a quiet chuckle. He accepted the tea that Taekwoon poured him, raising it in thanks.

"It's good tea," Taekwoon said.

For all Taekwoon's excitement in accepting the invitation, he'd been subdued almost since they'd ridden out that morning. It had been a while since they had been among so many strangers; Wonsik couldn't blame him.

"It is," Wonsik agreed. He nodded at Taekwoon's book. "What are you reading?"

Taekwoon held it up, and Wonsik recognised it instantly. It was a treatise that had been written almost two hundred years ago on investigative techniques, on signs to look for, on what a body looked like when it'd be strangled, on how to tell if a window had been broken from the inside or out. Wonsik had read it himself, several times.

"It's peaceful here," Taekwoon said with a small shrug.

"Oh?" Wonsik tilted his head, not quite understanding.

"It's good for reading," Taekwoon added. Wonsik chuckled softly. He refilled Taekwoon's empty cup, and then his own.

It was peaceful, that was certain.

"You're still thinking about the thief?" Wonsik asked. From the way Taekwoon stiffened, he knew he was right, even if Taekwoon had quickly shaken his head in denial. Wonsik shrugged a little, settling himself more comfortably on the bench. The pines on the opposite shore swayed in the wind, the same wind that ruffled through Taekwoon's hair, dark strands falling across his eyes. When he brushed his hair away from his eyes, Wonsik could see the scars on Taekwoon's palm and the inside of his fingers, testament to a lifetime of strict martial training. Taekwoon couldn't be said to be anything but dedicated, something that would never cease to impress Wonsik and hold his complete admiration.

"This is only conjecture," Wonsik said slowly, "but I think we can divide his targets into three kinds."

"The first," Wonsik said, holding up one finger, "are those like the bracelet. Items that might've fallen into the wrong hands, or that would be better in another's hands. The second is money. It's possible he's keeping it for himself, but from the Jang case, he clearly distributed it away entirely—providing for those who have difficulty providing for himself. And the third, are those he's paid for."

"Paid for?" Taekwoon prompted.

Wonsik nodded, looking down at his three fingers. This last had always been a thought, but it was only now that other pieces were falling into place did he think it truly was pinned down.

"Again, this is only conjecture, but I'd say he's a thief for hire. Too many of the items would be difficult for him to sell off, but they're still things people want. I dunno, maybe because they saw it once, or heard of them, or something?"

"Whoever's paying him likes vases," Taekwoon said.

"That could be," Wonsik agreed. "It could be something to look into. A different approach, might get us more leads. Maybe we've been going about this case the wrong way." He was still staring down at his hand, and slowly, he put up a fourth finger. "A fourth: curiosities for himself."

Taekwoon merely stared at him at this, and Wonsik shrugged.

"Like the phoenix," he said, a wry twist to his smile. Taekwoon snorted. "I bet he knew it was a chicken, and just wanted to prove it. It seems like something he'd do."

"You seem to know the thief well," Taekwoon said.

"It's all conjecture," Wonsik said with a small shrug. "If he were doing it out of malice, he wouldn't be leaving all those notes, I don't think."

"Or those gifts?" Taekwoon asked pointedly.

"Or those gifts," Wonsik said, swallowing first. He sighed, picking up his cup and raising it to Taekwoon, Taekwoon doing the same as they drank their tea. Taekwoon refilled their cups, and they sat in silence for some time, except for the call of birds, the water lapping against the stones, the occasional sound of cups or pot being replaced on the table.

"You know, it's a pity," Wonsik murmured, breaking the quiet. He met Taekwoon's inquisitive gaze with a small shrug. "There's things I'd like to ask him, but I'd only get to if we catch him. But if we catch him, he'll be executed. A pity."

"Which part?"

Wonsik blew out a long exhale. "Both," he said quietly.

"You don't want to see him brought to justice?" Taekwoon asked.

"When I started doing this, it was never really about that," Wonsik admitted. "Doing the right thing, yes. But sometimes the law just doesn't seem right, does it."

"It's the law," Taekwoon said.

Wonsik thought back to being a child, of secretly listening in on cases that his father heard and passed judgement on, according to the law. The law that his father was obligated to uphold, and would uphold regardless. The law, Wonsik had quickly learned, wasn't always fair.

He offered Taekwoon a wry smile. "You're right," he said. It could be difficult, arguing with Taekwoon, and Taekwoon's eyes were set in a manner that said he would not be giving any ground.

"Well, it all depends on catching him," Wonsik said.

Taekwoon answered with silence, and the slight furrow of his brows. 

"What do you think of this place?" Wonsik asked, steering the conversation away to lighter streams.

"It's pretty," Taekwoon said, staring out over the pond. He could see a small cluster of ministers at one of the distant pavilions, their heads bent in discussion. A pair of ducks swam serenely by, ripples following in their wake. The sun fell behind them, the shadows drawing long in front of them, the shape of the pavilion cast onto the surface of the water. Stalks of bamboo ringed parts of the pond where there were no bridges or other man-made constructs, and Wonsik could just catch sight of a rock formation, almost unearthly natural. 

"There will be hunting tomorrow," Wonsik said. "Will you join?"

Taekwoon nodded, and Wonsik smiled. It would be good for him, and Taekwoon was talented at such things. Wonsik's skill with a bow were sadly lacking—he'd be perfectly happy remaining here, rather than embarrass himself.

But such things were oft dictated by fortune as not, both those small and momentous: the farmer who might have been slain by a stray arrow had his son not taken sick that morning, the lady who'd bought an ornament only to lose it the next day, an unexpected bout of rain that would lead to two young people sheltering together, and it would be dictated by fortune whether it might lead to a clash between nations, or to a harmonious joining. There are some who might call it 'coincidence', yet there are no 'coincidences' in this world. And so it was with Taekwoon, that fortune decreed he would not be joining the outing the following day.

It happened that the moon was far from full that night, only a thin crescent of silver visible in the clear sky, reflected off the pond, floating between the lily leaves. There was a breeze, as there had been all day, and it was a pleasant enough evening. Though the moon was not round, it was no less enchanting, unobscured in the sky. Poetry might have been written about it, had either of the three of them been more inclined to such things, but in truth, they were merely three young men enjoying that which youth bestowed upon them, and good wine.

The son of an emperor, the son of a magistrate, and the son of a man who had never held any importance at all. 

It was a quiet sort of night, the birds themselves asleep. A deep night, a dark night. Jaehwan too, had been silent for quite some time, brought upon by the mood of the evening. No, it was far beyond the time which could be called evening, although equally far from the time which could be called morning. It was, by every definition of the word, the middle of the night, and it was quiet.

They sat, the three of them, at the square table, with Wonsik between Jaehwan and Taekwoon, as was so often the case when it was the three of them. Though Jaehwan was quiet and his words sparse, Taekwoon had yet to utter a single sound since he had joined them, his own steps carrying all the weight of a wraith's. But they were used to it, Jaehwan and Wonsik, and never was Taekwoon's silence a burden, when Jaehwan was so good at countering it, Wonsik easily filling that which remained. Tonight, however, it was Taekwoon's silence that all three of them were accompanying, as Wonsik poured all three of them another round of clear wine.

"I used to think this was something only old men did," Jaehwan said.

Wonsik laughed. "Would you say we're old?"

Jaehwan shook his head, his lips pursing thoughtfully, as he raised his cup to sip at the wine. "No," he said after several long seconds. "We're not old."

"Took you a bit long to answer," Wonsik said with a chuckle.

"I was being thoughtful," Jaehwan whined. "I had to take some time to be thoughtful."

Wonsik patted Jaehwan on the arm. "You did well," he said. Jaehwan pouted, whining as he squirmed. Off to the side, Taekwoon rolled his eyes, gazing out into the deep night, barely lit by sparse lanterns, both those that were set along some of the walkways, and those that wavered, carried by guards who were on patrol.

"We're not old."

Wonsik and Jaehwan both turned to Taekwoon with wide-eyed surprise. Jaehwan opened his mouth and just as quickly shut it. Perhaps he was waiting for Taekwoon to continue, but it soon became apparent it was all they would be getting out of him for now.

It had been some time since Taekwoon had last been in Jaehwan's presence in such silence. The prince and silence were like oil and water—but if one shook the two enough, they might appear for brief moments to be one before the illusion was broken. He'd been listening with only half a mind to what little conversation his friend and the prince had uttered, the rest sunk into a stillness like the surface of the pond itself. He was fortunate—beyond fortunate—to be able to see such things as this, he who had grown up in the house of a minor merchant, his father's brother with sons of his own. Such thoughts did not linger, merely tinged his being with warmth, appreciation, the presence of the moon on the pond.

It did not seem so long ago: the first time they had met Jaehwan, the murders the two had worked together to solve that had led to Wonsik's immediate approval from the Emperor, no doubt helped by Jaehwan's own clear appreciation of the son of Magistrate Kim. 

A fortune beyond any which Taekwoon might've dreamed when he'd sought out the boy who was said to have a knack for solving mysteries.

But these too were only the most fleeting of thoughts, drawn away by the breeze, too gentle to even disturb the surface of the water.

They were not old, for to be old would mean to be nearing the end of one's life, and there was yet too much to do for that, for all three of them.

Just as one spoke of the calm before the storm, those moments where the wind and world itself seemed to still before the heavens crashed through that stillness to rend it with cries and tears, so too was the stillness of the night scarred with cries of " _Intruder! Thief!_ ", lights rushing through the paths of the retreat, and even before Jaehwan and Wonsik were on their feet, Taekwoon had vaulted free of the table, disappeared into the space between buildings, ignoring the calls of his name.

It was _him_. Taekwoon knew it, knew it in his very bones.

_Fate_ , they called themselves—it was because of fate that Taekwoon was here. 

He could not see the curl of his lip—anticipation, satisfaction; or the focus in his eyes—determination; only knew the ground flying below his feet, carrying him to where the shouts of the guards were the loudest. Useless as they might be, they had eyes.

He would escape towards the mountains. Taekwoon was sure. He would wait until the search had conceded defeat, and then circle to one of the other small towns that had grown against the base of the slope. It was what Taekwoon would do. He didn't know how the thief had gotten in, there was no lack of security in a place like this. 

Had the thief meant to be seen, like he had shown himself to Taekwoon and Wonsik two weeks ago? No—he quickly dismissed that thought. It didn't fit. Then, he'd slipped up, been seen, and would be fleeing. Taekwoon took a moment to orient himself, his eyes long since adjusted to the darkness. The thief would evade the guards, he had no doubt. He would not fight them if it could be helped. There was a tree—Taekwoon used it to vault onto a roof. The thief had proven to be just as capable.

Defeat still smarted under his skin, and Taekwoon took off running, ahead of the guards' shouts. Taekwoon did not know the place well; the guards did.

It was instinct now that guided Taekwoon, and instinct that plummetted him through the shadows, dim and flickering. More shouts, mistaking him for the intruder—idiots—but someone must've recognised him because they soon quieted.

In the confusion, Taekwoon nearly missed it; a shadow a little too still, pressed against a wall. A grim smile of satisfaction.

Taekwoon lept down, landed lightly.

Too little surprise, too much amusement. Eyes barely visible, face masked, shaded by his hood.

"Hello, handsome," the thief said, stepping away from the wall. "Here to see if you'll do better this time?"

Taekwoon's only response was to spring forward, grab for the thief's wrist, but the thief danced away as if it were no effort at all.

"He's here!" Taekwoon yelled over his shoulder, voice raised far beyond he ever did.

Irritation, a frown, the same damned amusement. "Reinforcements? Now that's not very fair—I better leave before they get here," he said.

He lept _at_ the wall, springing directly off of it, stepping easily onto the roof. 

A half second of frozen surprise as he watched the thief sprint away, a slight curse, and then Taekwoon chased behind him on the street below. He could hear the guards, their steps loud, still yelling—herding. They were nearing the boundary. No gate here, but the thief had no need of it. Neither did Taekwoon.

Taekwoon lept, fingers just catching the edge of the roof's tiles, just enough leverage to swing himself up. He'd gained some time, running on flat ground, then lost some, getting onto the roof.

He hadn't chosen this roof uselessly. The thief would have to go through Taekwoon.

"Got you," Taekwoon said. Their eyes locked, Taekwoon firmly blocking their path.

"Are you sure about that?"

It was like a dance, the way the thief moved, no effort as he evaded Taekwoon's blows, fluid, graceful. His breaths were coming a little harder, but so were Taekwoon's. The thief's eyes had lost all amusement, were hard, inflectionless, giving nothing away. Taekwoon jumped back to avoid a blow, and in the same movement, shrugged off his jacket, throwing it forward.

"Ah—!"

Taekwoon allowed himself a small grim smile, the thief momentarily tangled in Taekwoon's jacket. A moment—enough time for Taekwoon to surge forward.

He grabbed the thief's wrist, felt it tense and jerk in his grasp. Taekwoon grit his teeth, gripped until it must've been bruising. The thief had already fought mostly free of Taekwoon's jacket—enough to catch Taekwoon's wrist, fast as a snake's bite, stopping Taekwoon from snatching at his mask.

"Nice try," he growled.

"No quip?" Taekwoon asked. The thief's grip on his wrist was no less forgiving than Taekwoon's. His eyes were dark, angled, unreadable, nearly hidden behind a fringe of hair, and despite the rest of his face being masked, there was the easy sense of a grit, forced smile.

"I don't reveal myself to strangers," he said.

Taekwoon huffed in scorn, swept at his feet—was wrenched forward, barely regained balance. Places traded. Each still gripping at the other, neither giving ground. Eyes still locked—the sound of nearing footsteps, voices, lights.

For the first time, there was a hint of—anger, it was anger, fierce enough it burned into Taekwoon, not even fear. He barely managed to keep the thief's wrist from slipping from his grasp—and Taekwoon's hand was empty, torn skin under Taekwoon's nails, the thief free.

Taekwoon was released, the thief lept back.

A small laugh. "Can't stay to chat," he said.

No, _no_ , he refused to let him get away. Taekwoon threw himself forward, a guttural growl. His hand shot behind him without thinking, blade slicing through clothes and flesh even before Taekwoon registered the hilt in his hand. A sharp hiss of air, stumbling, a brief moment of satisfaction and then Taekwoon's short sword flashed forward again, at least catching his arm, and then—

blinding pain, red, darkness in his eyes. His turn to stumble, blood hot beneath his hand pressed to his face, eyes forced close.

Gone. He was gone.

  

  

  

  

  

  

It was like watching the past, approaching the pair from the distance, the way they'd danced on the rooftops, mere shadows. Wonsik's breath came hard, Jaehwan following close behind him, and he could pick out Taekwoon in his familiar robes, light glinting off his silver earring. Again, one moment there were two of them, and then the thief was a blur of darkness disappearing into the night as if he'd never been there, and then Taekwoon seemed to disappear, steel bright and flashing in the dim lights. 

Wonsik's heart hammered in his chest. He hadn't thought he could run any faster.

" _Taekwoon!_ " He could just pick out Taekwoon's form, crumpled on the roof, still and unmoving. He heard Jaehwan yell for a doctor, knew that the guards that had continued to chase after their thief would return empty handed, that Taekwoon was on a _roof_ and it would take time for the rest of them to get to him.

"Taekwoon!" Wonsik yelled again. This time, slow movement. Relief washed over Wonsik, almost drowning in the breath he hadn't realised had been choking inside him. 

Taekwoon sat up onto his knees, and in the flickering light of the torches carried by the guards, Wonsik could see the blood covering Taekwoon's face. Dripping off of his face. The sound of Taekwoon punching the roof resounded even in the confused shouts surrounding Wonsik as he stopped beneath the building Taekwoon was on, breaths coming hard.

"Can you get down?" Wonsik asked Taekwoon.

A grunt of assent, and then Taekwoon was at the edge of the roof, jumped down. He landed hard, and Wonsik hurried to his friend.

"The doctor's on his way," Jaehwan said as he jogged up. 

"I'm fine," Taekwoon said. He waved Jaehwan away, despite the clear slash across his face, the blood that flowed freely and unstaunched.

"He _stabbed_ you," Jaehwan said, incredulous.

Wonsik began to wipe at the blood on Taekwoon's face with a handkerchief, which Taekwoon grabbed and dragged across his face far more roughly than Wonsik had been, wincing when he caught at where he'd been cut.

"I got him first," Taekwoon said—it was Wonsik's turn to freeze, stare wide-eyed at Taekwoon.

"You stabbed him first," Wonsik echoed. Taekwoon nodded, immediately grimaced at the motion—he swallowed the second burst of pain.

"You're fucking insane," Jaehwan said—heavens knew Wonsik loved Jaehwan like a brother but even he had his limits.

" _Jaehwan_ ," Wonsik snapped. Immediately, Jaehwan's words seemed to catch up to him, and his mouth shut with such alacrity it ought to have been audible. Wonsik swallowed, softened his tone. "See where the doctor is," Wonsik said.

"Alright," Jaehwan said.

"I'm fine," Taekwoon said again. He'd cleaned the blood from his face—Wonsik could see now the cut that extended across his closed eye, down to his cheek. Blood was still flowing, new tracks down faded-red skin. Wonsik frowned, and Taekwoon likely would have frowned back if he could.

"Hold still," Wonsik said. He leaned closer, pried open the lid of Taekwoon's eye as gently as he could, but even so, there was a sharp hiss of pain that wasn't quite swallowed. No blood, no damage—even Wonsik could tell so much.

"I told you it's fine," Taekwoon said. He might have said that, but he was already wavering, the one eye that Wonsik could see barely focussed. "I dodged. He barely got me."

Wonsik bit at the inside of his lip to keep from saying anything more. The worry that had pounded inside of him had subsided, replaced with an unfamiliar simmering anger—whether at the thief or because of Taekwoon, he couldn't quite pick out even if he'd wanted to, even if he'd thought to.

"It was reckless," Wonsik settled with saying.

As if to answer Wonsik, Taekwoon stood—tried to stand. He swayed, and was barely caught by a guard that rushed forward to steady him, faster than Wonsik could get to his feet.

"Young Master! Please sit until the doctor arrives!"

Taekwoon, being Taekwoon, stayed standing.

"What did he steal?" Taekwoon asked. It was barely a mumble, and Wonsik had to strain to hear him as well, even standing beside Taekwoon as he was, his hand on Taekwoon's arm.

"Marquis Dae's official seal," one of the guards said.

Wonsik frowned. "His seal?"

"It's different," Taekwoon said—this time, his voice pitched intentionally so only Wonsik could hear. Wonsik nodded, already spinning through reasons. A glance at Taekwoon made it clear that Taekwoon was ready to jump on the case at this very moment, despite the smudges of blood on his face and his hand, as he kept trying to wipe it away from his eyes. Wonsik's mouth tightened.

"You're not going anywhere but your room," Wonsik said.

Taekwoon opened his mouth to protest, but almost amazingly, said nothing. If anything, it worried Wonsik more, because it meant that even Taekwoon was acknowledging he wasn't quite 'fine'.

"I brought the doctor!" Jaehwan shouted, his voice far preceding his presence.

Wonsik turned with a visible breath of relief. The doctor was a middling aged man, younger than Wonsik might have expected, his beard still more black than gray. He wore a severe expression on his face, and was slightly out of breath as he arrived, although he carried very little with him.

"Please, Doctor," Wonsik said, gesturing to Taekwoon. 

"I'm fine," Taekwoon said, yet again.

"Get him to a room," the doctor ordered.

"Understood," two of the guards said, immediately moving forward to support him.

"No, let me," Wonsik quickly said before Taekwoon could turn on them. To his surprise, Jaehwan moved about to Taekwoon's other side, grabbing his arm. Taekwoon was no less surprised, enough so that when the prince started walking, tugging Taekwoon along with him, Taekwoon went. 

The guards led them to a guest room, a bare distance away, although when Wonsik and Jaehwan lowered Taekwoon into a chair, he nearly collapsed into it.

"You're an idiot," Jaehwan said frankly. Taekwoon's glare was half-hearted, and half as effective with one eye still forced shut. This time, Wonsik didn't bother reprimanding the prince, because just a bit, he agreed.

They stepped back, giving the doctor room. Taekwoon's fist clenched as he allowed the doctor to inspect the wound, but there was no other outward sign of discomfort, never mind pain. Beside Wonsik, Jaehwan recoiled instead at the sight.

"We leave him to you, Doctor," Wonsik said, glancing towards Jaehwan. 

"The Young Master's injury is not severe," the doctor answered. Vindication flashed in Taekwoon's eye. "However, he requires rest, and medicines—"

"I can do it," Taekwoon said, cutting him off.

"Young Mas—"

"An infusion of peony root, ginseng, goji berry, and angelica root twice daily," Taekwoon said coolly. "Keep the wound clean, and watch for signs of infection. A poultice of yarrow and tumeric can be used. Most importantly, the bleeding must be stopped."

"He practices medicine," Wonsik said, cutting Taekwoon off before he could offend the man whose hands they'd just put Taekwoon in.

"I see," the doctor said, not at all ruffled. "Well, I will first stop the bleeding, as the Young Master said."

"We will leave you to it," Wonsik said, bowing. He prodded a strangely silent Jaehwan out of the room, but not before giving instructions to the guards to have Taekwoon guided back to his room if he was able, and then ensure that he remained inside.

The night air, after the commotion, was almost stifling in its calm.

Jaehwan and Wonsik paused outside the door. They could just hear the voices inside, but they were too muffled to make out individual words.

"A knife," Jaehwan said, quietly. "He could've died."

"No," Wonsik said. He smiled, wry and mirthless. "Taekwoon wouldn't let himself."

Jaehwan huffed, beginning the walk back to their own quarters. Wonsik touched Jaehwan's arm, halting him.

"I'll go to Marquis Dae's room," Wonsik said.

"I'll come with you," Jaehwan said. Wonsik smiled, a genuine smile as small as it was.

"Thank you," Wonsik said.

Wonsik fell into his own thoughts as they walked, quiet otherwise surrounding them. It had been a calm that had not seemed out of place in the slightest mere minutes ago, but after such a brief yet disruptive storm, it was obliterating in its absence of chaos.

If he were to carry on the assumption that while some thefts were in the thief's own interests, most were those he'd been paid for, this was more than likely the latter. There were only so many people who might want Marquis Dae's seal, who might find it of use. It could help them pinpoint the culprit—the one who wasn't the thief. Wonsik realised with a horrible, hurtling drop of his heart that he'd stopped thinking of the thief as a 'culprit'. He'd told Taekwoon earlier, that he couldn't quite decide if he wanted to catch the thief or not. Even now, knowing that Jaehwan was right, that Taekwoon _could_ have died, Wonsik couldn't bring himself to wholeheartedly wish for the thief's capture, although it certainly tipped the balance in one side over the other.

The question then, Wonsik mused, pulling his focus back to the case at hand, was how the thief had got in, and what had motivated the theft. They must have known of this excursion—the security, as heavy as such a place was guarded, was no match to the security in the palace itself. A flash of colour caught his eye; Wonsik caught his fan in his palm. Jaehwan had seen it as well and hurried over to it.

"He disguised himself as a guard," Jaehwan said, tugging the outfit out from the bushes. "Marquis Dae wouldn't know his face if he'd seen him, he doesn't know the guards from the retreat, even if he'd know he wasn't a guard from the palace."

"Yes," Wonsik agreed. He sighed, rubbing at his arm. A clue, more than they usually had to go on.

The other question: had the thief known that Wonsik and Taekwoon would have been there? Jaehwan? They had only decided to come the day prior. And if so, what was the purpose? He scratched his head unconsciously.

"It doesn't seem like your thief to attack Taekwoon," Jaehwan suddenly said.

"Mm?"

"I mean, he leaves you _gifts_ ," Jaehwan said. "He doesn't seem like the kinda person who'd attack someone."

"Except Taekwoon attacked him first," Wonsik said with a sigh. "I'd forgotten he carried a short sword on him."

"I didn't even know he did," Jaehwan said.

"You wouldn't," Wonsik said. They'd come to the Marquis' guest room and both fell silent. If they could find a single clue, it'd be more than they'd ever had to go on.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

Beyond the seal, nothing had been taken from the Marquis' room. Nothing had been touched, or even disturbed. The Marquis himself had not even been aware that anything had been amiss, or that anyone had been within the room he had been asleep in. He'd been shaken—anyone would be. The guards had received a dressing down that made Wonsik wince in sympathy, and step forward to interrupt the Marquis' tirade. Many that night had seen the thief's skills, the guards could not be blamed.

They had found the thief's knife, fallen on the side of the building on which he and Taekwoon had fought. It'd been missed in the commotion the previous night, but easily spotted by a guard on patrol during the day. Dried blood dulled the shine—Taekwoon's blood. It was a simple knife with a plain wooden hilt and sharpened many times over, about half the size of Taekwoon's blade, although Taekwoon's blade was scarce longer than some knives itself. It was not new, and there were no identifying marks. Not like Taekwoon's short sword, a flower engraved on the pommel. It had fallen limp from Taekwoon's hand after he'd been slashed across the face, but quickly retrieved.

The knife was among Wonsik's things now. He had enough martial training to recognise that the knife, as simple as it was, was well balanced and well cared for. Versatile, easily thrown, easily wielded. He didn't like to think that it had been the one that might have killed Taekwoon.

No one, of course, had seen or noticed the thief enter. No one knew what he looked like. It seemed that an extremely alert guard had heard a sound like a fallen rock—his wavering torch light had revealed the shape of a figure instead.

Wonsik nearly missed it—a patch of wall just outside the doors barely off coloured. It was paper, he realised when he touched it. Frowning, he peeled it carefully away. His heart pounded as he brushed off the powder like substance disguising it the colour of the wall. There was a distinct smell he couldn't identify, and it was fine and dry when he rubbed it between his fingers.

It might have been reluctance that had slowed his hand as he unfolded the small note. By the fading light, he had to hold it close to his face, but there was no mistaking the handwriting.

_Hello, Wonsik. I'm sorry about your friend, he surprised me, but I shouldn't have done that. I've left some things for him, I don't know when youll be retruning, I dont want to laeve it here. Will u belive mewhen i say i didntkno you wuld b there? I dont thnk youll seenymre of me, it seems like i'm not as good as i thought i was, and i dont thnk imqute rdy to b caght._

The message ended there, the words slowly becoming more smudged and illegible, despite the thief's best efforts, strokes missing or in the wrong places. Spots of red had been wiped away but still remained, soaked into the paper. The usual sign off was blurred, messy. At the very bottom, a location and map had been drawn, although like the rest of the note, it was smudged.

Wonsik crouched down, fingers brushing at the ground. It'd been two days since that night—the blood that had dripped down but been wiped away was brown and dried. It was, Wonsik assumed, two days old. What did it say that the thief had paid a visit to Wonsik that very night? Had left things for Taekwoon.

These were the thoughts that Wonsik carried with him as he sat in the pavilion by the pond, a small flagon of clear wine on the table in front of him. He traced his finger down the curved ceramic of the flagon, looping his fingers about its narrow neck. They had returned early from the excursion, him and Taekwoon. Wonsik had taken Taekwoon home with him as soon as he'd been able to travel, bandage drawn over his face, covering one eye. It had been a ride made in silence, and Wonsik couldn't find it in him to force Taekwoon to talk. The Crown Prince had visited Taekwoon the afternoon after the incident, and Taekwoon had no rank to speak off and couldn't deny his entry; he had suffered the visit with all the dignity one might expect of a man who'd just been slashed across the face. As brusque as Taekwoon could be at times, he'd learned well of what manners could be expected of him. It'd been one of the first things Taekwoon had asked Wonsik when they'd started working together as a team.

It'd been three days since they'd returned, and the same moon that he, Jaehwan, and Taekwoon had gazed upon that night was now half-full. A clear night, again, but these few days had all been clear and hot. Jaehwan would return with the rest of the party in another two days—idly, Wonsik wondered how Jaehwan had amused himself without himself and Taekwoon present. An inconsequential thought.

Taekwoon was healing well. Those first two days, he'd quietly allowed the doctor at the retreat to tend to him. Those first two days, he'd been simply quiet in every way. Even with Wonsik, Taekwoon spoke only when prodded, and his answers rarely were longer than a word or two. Wonsik knew Taekwoon well enough by now to know when Taekwoon simply wanted to be left alone, and when it would be better to leave him alone than to try to drag him out of his silence. He'd been faint with blood loss the day after, but was now well enough to express his frustration at his own condition by rearranging and cataloguing his herbs and medicines with an unwarranted ferocity that had had Wonsik showing himself out the door. He'd come from Taekwoon's not long ago however—at the least, Taekwoon trusted Wonsik enough to help him change his bandages. Wonsik suspected that it was more of a favour to Wonsik than anything else, Taekwoon's way of apologising for, well, being himself. 

He hadn't told Taekwoon about the thief's note. It had taken Wonsik some effort to decipher the location that the thief had indicated: beneath the floorboards of an old, abandoned temple, some ways out of the city. Bound neatly with a cloth were several rather expensive healing foods and medicines that Taekwoon never would have used on himself. The cloth was smudged with blood. This too was now hidden in Wonsik's closet. He would wait for Jaehwan's return, and hope that the prince would agree to go along with Wonsik's plan to tell Taekwoon that the gift was from Jaehwan instead. It would entail telling Jaehwan about the thief's note, but Wonsik doubted that Jaehwan would reveal that to Taekwoon. 

And that—that was what had brought Wonsik outside this night, like a quiet breeze might push a wooden toy boat across this very pond. 

It was nothing like the one at the retreat, nor the one at the palace, small and surrounded on all sides by the walkways of the manor. Like always, Wonsik was alone. The household was asleep, well used to their young master's night wandering ways. It had been months since his father had returned to their family home. Few of the rooms were not empty; Wonsik could barely recall the days when this manor had bustled with life, when it had been more than only him and his father, and then when it had been he alone. Thinking of it still sent a pang of grief through his chest, although it had been dulled and grayed by the long years.

There were many ways in which one could die.

It was easy to piece together what had happened on that rooftop between Taekwoon and the thief, just before Wonsik had arrived. It had been faster than the eye could follow, as intricate as a dance, the twining of gales and streams—a brief conjuration in Wonsik's mind of the dancer from Jaehwan's court, motions beyond grace, but now was not the time to dream of such things. Taekwoon had nearly captured the thief, but in a burst of frustration and determination when the thief had freed himself, he'd instinctively reached for the short sword he always carried. Taekwoon had attacked the thief who'd been fleeing. Surprised and now hurt, the thief had responded in kind. Wonsik had no reason to believe that the thief had been lying when he said he hadn't meant to do it. Given that they had found the knife not far away, it was fair to say that the thief had dropped it, likely unintentionally, possibly because Taekwoon had injured his arm in some way. He was sure that the thief had never had any intention to kill Taekwoon—but he couldn't be sure if the thief had intended to injure Taekwoon in the way he had. And if he had, it was a blow that might have cost Taekwoon his eye, or killed him, had things played out in an extremely unlucky way. But perhaps it was fate that it had not.

There was no doubt in Wonsik's mind that he was a criminal. How could he not be, with all the things he had stolen. Had those crimes alone not been heavy enough, his attack on Taekwoon, however much Taekwoon had instigated it, would not look kindly on him when it came to the law. But Wonsik himself could not find it in him to hate the man for what he had done, even if Taekwoon was one of his dearest friends. He had never once spoken to him and knew far less about the man than he seemed to know of Wonsik. That was unnerving. He had seen him only twice, had met his eyes only once and that had been from a distance. Why then, was Wonsik so unkeen to condemn him? 

It was not the gifts, whatever Jaehwan believed or said. Wonsik found them charming; they sat on a shelf in his room, but little else. The man was funny, likely young, self-declared to be handsome. Somewhat of a narcissist, unbelievably self-confident, a bit of a show-off. Kind, thoughtful, and talented beyond mere thieving, if that could be called a talent. And injured, and quitting, if he was to be believed. It made him feel even more the real. The blood on the cloth bundle was the most undeniable proof.

Wonsik sighed heavily, pouring himself yet another cup of wine. The sound filled the silence, and just as abruptly fled from it, leaving behind an echoing, empty space. 

Perhaps he would ask Jaehwan to peruse some of the old case files that had never been solved. It was always a good exercise, a fun puzzle, regardless if they solved it or not, although it had taken Wonsik a while to accept that. Yes, Wonsik decided, he would do that upon Jaehwan's return. He would bring Taekwoon with him as well—it wouldn't do for Taekwoon to coop himself up like this for too long. Nor was it good for Taekwoon to fixate so much on a single case. With what had happened, he would only be more so. Picking apart a puzzle may help. Keep him occupied until he could see patients again—not even Taekwoon was daft enough to do so with an unhealed wound. Taekwoon may never have had formal schooling, but a seal was not what made one a good doctor.

And what, Wonsik wondered, would apprehending a thief who had said he'd be quitting, do. He knew Taekwoon's answer. He didn't know his own.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The dancer's return was something that Wonsik had been anticipating with an eagerness he would never admit. The promised month was nearing its end; the latter half of the month had passed in a dull, sleepy manner. This was a hot summer, and the hazy heat seemed to smother the entire city in its oppressiveness. As quiet as those weeks had been, Wonsik was pleased that they had solved two old cases—it had done much to improve Taekwoon's foul mood.

Irregardless of anticipation, the lethargy that permeated life left him caught completely unawares by that afternoon's visitor. 

"Your steward insisted your humble servant wait for the Young Master's return," Hakyeon said, eyes cast downwards. "Your humble servant came to return the Young Master's horse and to say his thanks."

Wonsik gaped.

"Sit, sit," he blurted out, gesturing at the chair.

"Thank you, Young Master," Hakyeon said, straightening from his bow. His sleeves covered his hands as he did, retaking his seat with a sort of grace and fluidity that Wonsik would never achieve.

"Young Master, you've returned!" Wonsik snapped about as his steward walked in with quick steps. His steward's eyes twinkled with mirth as he bowed, in respect to Hakyeon's presence. "I hope you don't mind that I asked this young master to await your return. I will presently have more tea sent for."

"Please, Hakyeon will do, I am no young master," Hakyeon quickly said, but it was waved away, and just as abruptly, Wonsik and Hakyeon were again left alone.

"Don't mind Kyungmo," Wonsik said with a sigh as he took the other seat. "He's been with this household longer than I've been alive."

"Steward Kyungmo has been nothing but kind," Hakyeon said. "Your humble servant should not linger for long, the Prince has been kept waiting for far too long, and I cannot continue to impose upon his kindness."

"I'll go with you if you're worried," Wonsik said. He couldn't help but stare at Hakyeon.

If he had been surprised upon last seeing Hakyeon, then surprised was not enough of a word to express Wonsik's current state. Hakyeon was still wearing travel clothes, the hems stained lightly with dirt. It did nothing to dim Hakyeon's beauty, his skin glowing, his smile as charming as ever—in a moment of poetic weakness, Wonsik wanted to liken it to the sun itself. It could not hide his slender form, and certainly could not conceal the elegance of his every motion. He was just as breathtaking as Wonsik had last seen him, if not more so. 

"Uh, so, your trip went well?" Wonsik asked.

Hakyeon inclined his head. "Yes, with great thanks to the horse that Young Master lent me."

"And your family, they're well?"

"They are well, and don't deserve Young Master's concern—"

"Please, can we—formality—you don't need to here," Wonsik said, cutting Hakyeon off, stumbling over his own words. Everything was too sudden, and Wonsik's mind was struggling to keep up. It seemed to be a theme with this man. He was frowning, slightly, which he shook off and replaced with an expression that might be less foreboding. Wonsik sighed, scratching a little at the back of his neck. "You can speak comfortably, and then Kyungmo might quit that too. It's awkward."

A small, playful smile, and the immediate sense of the line of Hakyeon's body relaxing. 

"As the Young Master demands," Hakyeon said, although the dull intonation of formality was now gone. Wonsik almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. 

Silence fell as Wonsik strove to find the right words for such a situation. The last time they had exchanged any sort of prolonged conversation had been in a small guest room, surrounded by the darkness of night. In the clouded light of midafternoon, nearing evening as it was, mid-night encounters were as substantial as dreams, and Wonsik struggled with conciliating the two. Hakyeon's eyes fell on him, expectant, oddly silent. Wonsik wished that Hakyeon would say something, but he seemed utterly at ease with the silence.

Wonsik stood. Hakyeon's eyes followed him with surprise. "Let's sit outside," Wonsik said.

"Outside?" Hakyeon echoed.

"I'll have Kyungmo send the tea out to us," Wonsik said. He proceeded towards the door, not waiting for Hakyeon, and it was a bare second later that the shuffle of fabric belying Hakyeon's movements followed.

Wonsik led them to the pavillion, gesturing for Hakyeon to first sit. Hakyeon hesitated, but as Wonsik stayed standing, he gathered his robes and sat, gazing about him with appreciation.

"So this is what such a place looks like in the day," Hakyeon said.

"You've seen it in the night?" Wonsik asked, somewhere between teasing and confusion.

Hakyeon laughed, smiling at Wonsik mischievously. "Not yours, I'm afraid," he said.

"Would you like to?" Wonsik blurted out before he could second guess himself. Hakyeon's eyes opened wide, in more genuine of surprise than Wonsik had seen Hakyeon show. But Hakyeon immediately bowed his head, looking away.

"I am afraid that I have kept the Prince waiting far too long, and cannot delay anymore," Hakyeon said.

"Please don't," Wonsik said, a small groan of exasperation. "If that's it, I'll send a message to Jaehwan. And it's getting late, it won't make a difference if you arrive in the morning. Have dinner and rest here tonight, and when you present yourself at court tomorrow you'll be fresher for it." Jaehwan would tease him to no end, but it was a sacrifice that Wonsik was willing to make.

"I cannot possibly impose—"

"It's not imposing," Wonsik said, cutting Hakyeon off. He eyed Hakyeon, trying to decide if Hakyeon truly did not wish to stay, or if his refusals were born of manners. Hakyeon, Wonsik was quickly learning, could be a difficult man to read.

It was at this moment that there was the sound of footsteps, and Wonsik turned to see Kyungmo approach with one of the serving girls in tow.

"A good place to wait for a breeze," Kyungmo said. The serving girl placed the tea down on the table, before taking the tray with her and retreating with a bow. Kyungmo poured both Wonsik and Hakyeon tea, smiling at Wonsik as he did so.

"Our Young Master has quite the discerning taste in teas," Kyungmo said to Hakyeon—Wonsik's brows drew downwards in confusion, because he certainly did not, and knew nothing of tea. 

"As expected of such an accomplished young master," Hakyeon said.

"Please allow this old man to be presumptuous for a moment, but I could not help but to overhear you and Master Wonsik, and I too must insist that you allow us to provide you hospitality for the night," Kyungmo said, bowing towards Hakyeon.

Wonsik shut his eyes and resisted the urge to groan. "Hakyeon, Kyungmo, can both of you please speak comfortably? And Kyungmo, you're not old."

His steward laughed, straightening. "Very well," he said. "Now, Hakyeon was it? If this rascal causes any trouble, send anyone for me and I'll sort him out. I'll have the cook prepare a little more for dinner, now if you'll excuse me."

This time, Wonsik did blow out a long exhale as Kyungmo swept away, his steps far too sprightly for someone who was old. "Don't mind Kyungmo," Wonsik said again.

"Should I worry about you causing trouble?" Hakyeon asked, eyes twinkling. "Being alone with you?"

"Of course not!" Wonsik said. His face began to colour, and Wonsik rubbed at his ear. "You don't have to stay, I don't want to pressure you, but if Jaehwan's your only objection, I'd like it if you did."

"Would you now?" Hakyeon asked, with a delicate arch of his brow. It soon fell away into a more serious expression, although a smile still sat on his lips.

"But I would like to see this at night," Hakyeon said more softly, a small gesture to the courtyard about them. The sleeve draped from his wrist, having slid down his hand as he'd raised it. They were alone, and Hakyeon's next words were pitched only for Wonsik to hear.

"And I'd like to see you too."

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

Wonsik's clothes did not quite fit Hakyeon, being broader across the shoulders, somewhat taller in the leg. It made the dancer look smaller, even more slender, and Wonsik sat back at the table as he watched him move about his room. Hakyeon paused in front of the shelf, eyes opening a little wide, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. Wonsik stood, coming about to see what it was that had caught Hakyeon's attention.

"May I?" Hakyeon asked at Wonsik's approach. It was the shelf on which he kept the things that the thief had left him. Wonsik nodded, and Hakyeon picked up the small clay bird whistle.

"I had one of these when I was very small," Hakyeon said. He smiled at Wonsik, and it seemed to be a wistful one. The wistfulness soon melted away, Hakyeon replacing the whistle and inspecting the other items.

"An odd collection," Hakyeon commented.

"Is it?" Wonsik asked. It was, of course. There was nothing in common between any of them, except for the giver, which Hakyeon would not have known. A glass flower, a cross-stitching, a wooden children's toy. An odd collection indeed.

Hakyeon gave Wonsik a sly look, before he moved on down the row. Wonsik wasn't sure what conclusion Hakyeon had come to, and wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

The trinkets aside, the remainder of Wonsik's room was as one would expect of a young man his age and stature. Wonsik returned to his seat, a low buzz spreading under his skin. He had invited Hakyeon to stay, and Wonsik could not deny that there had been more to his invitation than simple hospitality, although he would never dream of pressing, or even expecting. But it was Hakyeon who had asked to see Wonsik's room, although in such a way that Wonsik didn't even realise he was being asked until they were partway there. Wonsik could not help but to wonder.

Wonsik cleared his throat. "I can send for some wine," he said, as Hakyeon turned about.

Hakyeon's eyes crinkled lightly at the corners as he smiled. "Would that help calm your nerves? You do seem a little anxious, Young Master."

"Wonsik, I'd like it if you'd call me Wonsik," Wonsik mumbled.

"Hm, Wonsik, is it?" Hakyeon said. He moved away from Wonsik's shelf, to sit down across from Wonsik. He leaned forward, chin propped against interlaced fingers, elbows resting against the table. He smiled.

"Since you did last time," Wonsik said.

Hakyeon laughed, eyes crinkling once again, almost childish in his glee.

"Then, thank you for inviting me to stay, Wonsik," Hakyeon said. In a flash, Hakyeon was by Wonsik's side—Wonsik didn't have a chance to utter a sound before Hakyeon had caught Wonsik's lips in a kiss, soft and gentle and slow. He melted against Wonsik, an arm about his waist. Hakyeon smelled of flowers, sweet. 

"You don't have to, I didn't mean, when I invited you," Wonsik said when Hakyeon drew back.

Hakyeon huffed. "Do not hurt my pride," he said. "I'd do nothing I didn't want."

If that was the case—Wonsik picked Hakyeon up, and carried him to the bed. This time, Wonsik was free to spend as much time as they liked.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It was quiet, for a few months. Oddly quiet.

"I keep telling you, take the exams," Jaehwan said as they walked. "Then at least you get money and a fancy position for what you're already doing."

Wonsik laughed. "I haven't figured out what I want yet," he said. He smiled ruefully. "My father's been pushing me too."

"See!" Jaehwan looked triumphant. Wonsik sighed heavily.

Summer had faded into autumn, heat dissipating into cool days and chilly evenings. They were returning to the palace, him and Jaehwan, after a busy visit in the city. They had visited the market, paid a visit to Taekwoon, and had drank well at a fine inn. As great as the palace was, Jaehwan was still a young man who enjoyed the excitement and bustle that only the city outside could provide.

It was much quieter here, although still there were children playing in the streets, but peddlers and merchants having already gone home to their own rest.

Much could change in a few months. With little else to do, Taekwoon had applied himself even more diligently to his medical studies, Wonsik helping him scour out rare texts, with Jaehwan's occasional input. There would be a scar on his face for the rest of his life—less noticeable than it might have been, for Taekwoon had been diligent in tending to his own wound. He'd also started training twice as hard, often at Wonsik's manor; Wonsik would sometimes return home to find that Kyungmo had already let Taekwoon in. Wonsik had little doubt what was driving Taekwoon, and it set him ill at ease for more reasons than one. It had not helped when, a few weeks ago, a letter and a key had been slipped under Taekwoon's door. The crudely drawn map was familiar to Wonsik, only this time, it led to a small house in a town a half hour's ride away. In it, had been several of the things that had been stolen, as well as a letter apologising for those that were no longer in his possession and could therefore not be returned, and that the chicken was being well taken care of. Wonsik had tried not to let his disappointment show when Taekwoon had crumpled the letters in his hand and burned them before Wonsik could tuck them away with the others, kept in a small box in his room. Each thing had even been helpfully labelled with who it had been stolen from—if Wonsik didn't have the memory for such things as he had, it would have been very helpful for returning them to their rightful owners. Wonsik was oddly touched. Taekwoon was expectedly livid.

As for Wonsik, little had changed in his home habits—the time he spent at home, however, had. So, supposedly, had the time he spent with Jaehwan.

Hakyeon settled into his small part at court within Jaehwan's quarters, like a newly planted flower might lend elegance and colour to a garden. A quiet addition, yet brought out to shine when needed, when Jaehwan wanted to impress, and impress he did. He seemed to spend most of his spare hours reading—and the rest of his spare hours with Wonsik.

"Is he here for my sake or yours," Jaehwan had complained, heaving a dramatic sigh. He'd grinned as Wonsik had spluttered, flapping his hand at Wonsik in dismissal. "I like them taller and prettier anyway." Wonsik had had to bite his tongue to protest that Hakyeon was very pretty. He knew that wasn't quite what Jaehwan had meant anyway. That one girl, _absurdly_ tall, hair like gold, foregin and exotic—Jaehwan hadn't been the only one smitten with her. She'd seemed to find him cute—she was probably at least ten years older than them both. Even Wonsik still remembered her. Quite a yardstick to measure any future love by.

It was autumn, but not so late that the sun had already set, that darkness had already set in. They would return to the palace before then. Shadows were already cast long, and soon the children would be called in, or scatter to their respective homes. Guards stood alert at the wide gates of grand manors, flanked by lanterns that would soon be brilliant in the night. Wonsik knew that he ought to post guards at his own home, but it was far enough out of the way that neither he nor his father had ever felt any need, especially now that there were no women who needed protecting. Wonsik, while not Taekwoon, was capable of taking care of himself.

Wonsik was listening to Jaehwan with only half an ear, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of the palace. To say that Wonsik had grown fond of Hakyeon would have been a bit of an understatement. It was difficult not to like the man. He had a quick mind and a quick tongue, made Wonsik laugh in one breath and then fluster in another. He was unbelievably self-confident, so much so that it sometimes left Wonsik speechless; the dip of Hakyeon's eyes in those rare moments when Hakyeon thought Wonsik to be asleep as he massaged whitening oils into his skin all the more striking for it. He was kind, thoughtful, and talented beyond the grace and elegance in his dance, if one could call Hakyeon's very life blood a talent. It was, Wonsik had come to learn, what Hakyeon knew of himself at his very core.

It's said that only when the roof is leaking will it rain, and that where one crow will fly surely another will follow. That evening, before the sun had set, as Wonsik listened to Jaehwan with only half a ear for his mind was preoccupied with thoughts of the palace, Wonsik would hear a name he had not heard for many years, and not in such a carefree manner for many more.

"Hongbin!"

_Hongbin!_

His heart froze as his steps froze as time froze, and for a moment of a moment, Wonsik saw in front of him bright eyes and a bright laugh, eyes crinkled at the corners, mouth open wide.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" A child's voice, and the stream of time tugged Wonsik back into the present and stepping out of the way of a young boy, a hoop and stick in hand. Bright eyes, a bright laugh, a boy chasing after his older brother, and the image from a moment ago has disappeared from Wonsik's eyes.

"Wonsik?" Jaehwan's voice, and Wonsik only then realised that he had stopped. "Is something wrong?"

Jaehwan's brows were deeply furrowed, his expression twisted in concern. Wonsik forced a smile, a small laugh, patted Jaehwan's arm, kept walking. 

"No I'm fine," Wonsik said. He took a deep breath, steadied his voice but his words had already come out, and there was no fixing them. Another smile, and Jaehwan's heart twisted for the sorrow in it even if Wonsik could not know. "Hongbin's not a common name, is all."

"Hongbin," Jaehwan repeated, the name slow and paced and unfamiliar on his tongue. His forehead still creased, his lip caught briefly between his teeth. Jaehwan had never had as complete a memory as some, but it was enough to have caught that name in its web, and was now fished to the surface by Wonsik's wistful ache.

"Oh," Jaehwan breathed softly, remembering a night where they were younger and drunker and Wonsik had told him about a friend. A friend who'd abruptly disappeared, who'd Wonsik had never managed to find. "He's..."

"Yeah, yeah he is," Wonsik said. 

He blew out a long breath of air, his hand reaching automatically for his fan, only to remember he had forgotten it three nights before and would not have it again until tonight. It had not been with him for those three nights since, but it was only now that he noted its absence did its absence truly ache.

They walked the remainder of the way in silence, Wonsik sunk into what might have been thoughts and memories had they taken any form. It was before sundown that they returned, passing through the well guarded gates of the palace.

Only then, as they neared where Wonsik and Jaehwan often parted ways, did Jaehwan turn to Wonsik with a crooked grin.

"Guess you're not joining me for more tea?" Jaehwan asked.

"Good night, Jaehwan," Wonsik said firmly, tuning out Jaehwan's subsequent quip and comment about 'having fun'. It didn't stop him from blushing furiously.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

In the half light of the lanterns, the shadows cast across Hakyeon's face were dulled and blurred. Hakyeon had extinguished them earlier; it softened the room, swallowed the edges. Only one remained by the cloister of the bed, a candle set by the table for Hakyeon to write by. It was the first time Wonsik had seen Hakyeon write, he noted absentmindedly.

Wonsik still lay on the bed, sweat cooled and mostly dried. The months had lent him more familiarity with both this room and Hakyeon's gaze, and he had yet to clothes himself. Hakyeon, however, had gently left Wonsik on the bed and draped a cloak over himself, and had gone to sit at the table. He sat there now, his face part in profile, brush poised and straight in his hand, yet the paper had yet to be marked. The inkwell glistened in the light, the grinding of the inkstone having whispered through the room, many minutes earlier. Hakyeon himself had not stirred for some time, except to once place the brush down, and once again to pick it up. His hair was still damp by his neck, and Wonsik felt a surge of fondness for no tangible reason.

It had been good, and Wonsik's muscles were relaxed and loose. The usual drowsiness had come and gone, sleep just eluding Wonsik—or perhaps it was Wonsik eluding sleep.

It has been said that things arrive in pairs, or that things follow in threes. There is nothing that comes in fours but ill fates and endings, and it is also said that it never rains but pours.

For Wonsik, that night could have been counted as any number of ways, but the first, undoubtedly, had been the calling of Hongbin's name, lingering as if a spectre in Wonsik's mind. The second could have been the door having been locked when Wonsik had arrived, the sound of something falling, of Hakyeon's muffled voiced frustration, before the door had opened and Hakyeon had been standing there as flawlessly put together as ever. The third, then, could have been Hakyeon's uncharacteristic silence, the way he paused just a second longer than he might usually have, the almost imperceptible dip of his brows that Wonsik might have missed had he not come to know Hakyeon, and had he not learned to read the most minute of changes that all but a few would pay no note to.

But let us say that this is a thing that comes in pairs, that this is a couplet with a first and a last, a counterpoint to the other, word matched for word, both opposite and alike. Let us instead write the start of this answering line to be Wonsik echoing Hakyeon's movements from minutes earlier, and coming to stand just by Hakyeon's shoulder.

"Did you sleep well?" Hakyeon asked. He tipped his head back, just enough to meet Wonsik's eyes with a playful shine.

"Ah—did I fall asleep again?" Wonsik rubbed at his neck as he dropped himself onto the floor next to Hakyeon.

"Well it certainly sounded like you did," Hakyeon said, tucking his hair behind his ear. "Enough to wake a sleeping elephant."

"I woke you, didn't I," Wonsik said ruefully. Hakyeon simply laughed, rested his arm about Wonsik's neck, gently massaged at Wonsik's shoulder.

The paper, Wonsik realised, was no longer blank. Instead, in great, bold strokes, was written a single word that Wonsik had come to know well, and yet had not seen in some time.

Wonsik, unable to help himself, smiled. He leaned against Hakyeon's side, his eyes falling shut for a brief moment, an odd mix of relief and resignation washing over him.

"You know, well, I guess I should tell you, other than the scar, Taekwoon's fine," Wonsik said. His words were soft, off-handed, as unremarkable as Hakyeon might have been able to make them had it been Hakyeon speaking those same words.

Hakyeon, however, could not hide his own lurch of surprise, the hitch of his shoulders, the sharp intake of breath that was quickly exhaled in a much slower one. 

"You knew," Hakyeon said. Relief, resignation. Rattled, awed. Something seeped out of him with those words, the tension that had been vibrating within him for the past three days and in particular this night, the moment Wonsik's two sharp raps on the door had sounded in his room. A small laugh, or perhaps it was simply a shaky exhale.

And then: "how?"

Wonsik rested his hand on Hakyeon's knee, reassuring, solid. His other hand came up against Hakyeon's back, and he traced a line just beneath his shoulder. "This," Wonsik said, and then repeated the same motion down the length of Hakyeon's arm. "And this," Wonsik said. Hakyeon shivered under his touch.

"Too recent to be the follies of youth," Wonsik added.

"Ah, are you saying I'm no longer young?" Hakyeon asked, but his usual teasing tone carried too much weight to be carefree and airy. Wonsik could not see it, seated beside Hakyeon as he was, but Hakyeon allowed himself a rueful smile for him and him alone.

"Since when?" Hakyeon asked. Quiet, hesitant. He was not sure if he wanted to know.

"Since that night," Wonsik said. Even if Wonsik had not smoothed his thumb across where, hidden beneath Hakyeon's sleeve, was a deep, red scar, Hakyeon knew which night Wonsik meant.

"That," Hakyeon said, pausing for a moment, "was a very long time ago. How..."

"You forget I'm an investigator," Wonsik said with a chuckle. "Unofficial, but I'd like to think of myself as a rather competent one. The first was of course your wounds. I knew that Taekwoon had wounded the thief, at least once."

"People are cut all the time," Hakyeon said, arching his eyebrows. Slowly, his easy manner was filtering back.

"Yes, but there's more," Wonsik said. He raised himself off the floor, dislodging Hakyeon's arm to sit on the table, having to push aside some things for the space. He met Hakyeon's eyes, taking in the surprise—the worry. "You _had_ seen my courtyard before at night," Wonsik said. He followed it with a quiet chuckle. Creases formed between Hakyeon's brows before memory must have tugged at him, and his lips parted in a quiet 'oh'.

"I shouldn't have said that," Hakyeon said.

Wonsik shook his head. "I wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for everything else. It just, seemed like the kinda thing you would've said anyway," he said.

"The kind of thing I would've said?" A delicate arch of Hakyeon's eyebrows. Wonsik coughed and coloured, pushing on before Hakyeon could derail him.

"And then you were too surprised, seeing the things—ah, the gifts, I guess I can call them now," Wonsik said, his mouth twisting in a barely concealed laugh. Hakyeon laughed as well, but remained otherwise silent, giving, for once, Wonsik the chance to speak.

"A bit too happy? Yeah, that's it," Wonsik said. There was a faint flush rising on Hakyeon's cheeks, and Wonsik wanted to ruffle Hakyeon's hair, as he often did to Jaehwan, or stroke his fingers through it. Later, perhaps. He had a question to answer, and too many questions to ask.

"Then this," Wonsik said. He caught Hakyeon's hand in his and tugged it onto his lap, ignoring Hakyeon's small jerk of surprise. Wonsik brushed his thumb over the callouses on Hakyeon's palm, the space between his finger and his thumb, down the line of his wrist. He caught Hakyeon's hand between his, clasped it, revelled in his warmth. When he looked up and met Hakyeon's eyes, Wonsik nearly lost himself in their deep brown, darker for the way the light shone.

"They're from holding a sword," Wonsik said, brushing his fingers again over the callouses.

Hakyeon arched an eyebrow. "I hold a sword to dance," he said.

"I've seen you dance," Wonsik said. He turned Hakyeon's hand over, palm up. "You wouldn't have these," a touch, "only these," and another.

"I suppose," Hakyeon said with a rueful laugh as Wonsik traced. "But that's all conjecture and no proof."

"Mm, did you know, I thought you looked familiar the first time I saw you," Wonsik said. He stared into Hakyeon's eyes, and this time, it was because he wanted to lose himself in them. He wanted to reach out and brush Hakyeon's eyelids, to kiss the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Your eyes," Wonsik said. "I'd seen them before. I just didn't know where."

Hakyeon's eyes flickered wide, and then they melted back into a soft smile. "I really slipped up that time, didn't I?"

"Show off," Wonsik teased. Hakyeon coloured wonderfully, and Wonsik laughed. "Taekwoon wouldn't stop calling you one."

"Taekwoon, hm?" Hakyeon hummed the name softly to himself. Wonsik hesitated, wondered if he should warn Hakyeon away from Taekwoon—wondered if he should tell Hakyeon about Taekwoon's determination and stubborn personality.

There would be time for that, Wonsik decided. 

"If you knew for so long, why didn't you tell anyone?" Hakyeon asked. Wonsik abruptly realised he was still holding Hakyeon's hand, when Hakyeon laced their fingers together.

"I guess... I got fond of you?" Wonsik said. He winced, knowing the words had not come out remotely like how he'd wanted them to, but Hakyeon merely laughed, his eyes crinkling into crescents, lines creasing his cheeks as his mouth stretched wide.

"Fond of me?" Hakyeon echoed, still laughing.

"I wouldn't have anyway," Wonsik protested. "I don't see much point in chasing someone who's already said they're not gonna steal anymore, and it's not like you did something horrible and kill someone or anything."

"Mm, I did say that didn't I?" Hakyeon said. He tugged at Wonsik until Wonsik slid off the table and onto Hakyeon's lap, and they were suddenly so close, Wonsik couldn't help but kiss Hakyeon. His lips were soft, and a smile curled up on them at Wonsik's touch.

"You believed a nameless thief?" Hakyeon asked when Wonsik drew away. His words tickled at Wonsik's nose, lingering in the breathspace between them.

"I did want to ask, why 'fate'?"

"Ah, I suppose you must have questions," Hakyeon said. It was so fast gone that Wonsik might have missed it: disappointment, regret, sorrow—the last out of place, yet undoubtedly present. He'd drawn back, rested a hand against Wonsik's cheek, the same callouses that Wonsik had previously traced with his fingers now familiar against his skin. Hakyeon chuckled and let his hand fall against Wonsik's thigh, warm and firm.

"Mm, it's not so complicated. Across the sea, they call it _en_ , it's pretty, right?"

"It is," Wonsik agreed.

"And my... well, someone told me it was fitting for a thief. The thief's affinity with the thing is greater than theirs," Hakyeon said with a small laugh. "And it's fitting now, isn't it—what's this if it isn't fate?"

"You," Wonsik said, a quirk of his brows. "You knew about me and Jaehwan, didn't you?" Hakyeon's lips twitched in a smile.

"You _are_ fate," Wonsik said softly, and then promptly coloured at how cheesy his words were.

"Yes, I suppose I am," Hakyeon said. For once, he only smiled and did not catch Wonsik's words and worry at it like a dog who didn't know how to let go, until Wonsik was spluttering and flustered. 

"Well then, since we've gotten all that sorted out," Hakyeon said primly, "shall we go back to bed, love? After all this excitement, I'm not... quite tired enough to sleep, though."

" _Love_?" Wonsik repeated—Hakyeon might as well not have said anything after that one word.

"Well yes," Hakyeon said, laughing. He stood, scooping Wonsik up and carrying him to the bed like a bride, leaving Wonsik with no recourse but to sling an arm about Hakyeon's neck for fear of falling. But for all that Hakyeon appeared slight and slender, it belied a strength that was no less than Wonsik's.

"I've had rather longer to... how did you put it, grow fond of you?" Hakyeon said. He put Wonsik onto the bed and climbed up as well, straddling Wonsik's waist, eyes twinkling as he looked down at him, hair falling about over his shoulders. But then he caught his lip in his teeth, a crease forming between his eyes. "I won't call you that, if you don't want."

"No, no," Wonsik said. "I... it's fine. Yeah, it's fine. If you want."

"Thank you," Hakyeon murmured. He leaned down, kissed Wonsik gently, no less so than Wonsik had kissed him earlier. Their foreheads touched, and Hakyeon smiled.

"For?"

"For trusting me," Hakyeon said, and kissed Wonsik again. This time, it was long minutes before either of them said anything again.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"You're drinking again?" Wonsik frowned as he followed Taekwoon in. It was always easy to tell—a single sip would send a pink flush to Taekwoon's cheeks.

"I knew you'd come," Taekwoon said simply.

"How?"

"Intuition," Taekwoon said.

Wonsik sighed as he sat, while Taekwoon went to fetch a second cup for Wonsik. It was easy to tell when Taekwoon was lying as well. At least Taekwoon prefered the softer, sweeter wines. They went to his head less.

Papers were spread across the table, Taekwoon's chicken scratches filling almost every blank space. Wonsik slid the top few over a few inches to reveal a map of the city below. He hadn't known that Taekwoon had one.

"What's this?" Wonsik asked as Taekwoon returned, knowing full well the answer.

Taekwoon shrugged, pouring wine out for Wonsik. "Jaehwan gave it to me," he mumbled, knowing full well that wasn't what Wonsik had meant.

" _Taekwoon_." The corners of Wonsik's mouth tightened but Taekwoon met his eyes briefly before he poured himself another cup. 

Jaehwan. Wonsik hadn't been expecting that. Jaehwan hadn't mentioned Taekwoon to Wonsik at all—it ought not to have mattered, yet it was odd nonetheless. Yet Wonsik didn't doubt that Taekwoon was telling the truth about Jaehwan; he could think of no other way Taekwoon would have it.

Wonsik sighed, raising his cup to Taekwoon in acknowledgement before drinking it.

It was only several minutes of comfortable silence later did Wonsik realise how long it had been since they had had such nights. There was nothing silent about time spent with Jaehwan, and the nights spent with Hakyeon were only silent in the moments when Hakyeon had fallen asleep, his lips slightly parted, his expression utterly at peace.

He had even begun to take books with him on occasion, merely to sit in Hakyeon's presence, or to watch as Hakyeon practiced. There were times he'd take home with him small pieces of clues, and then bring them with him as he walked over to Hakyeon's, Hakyeon sometimes offering a thought or two. He only used to do that with Taekwoon.

The changes that could occur in a moment were startling. It had been only days ago that Hakyeon had admitted to Wonsik who he had been, prior to becoming Jaehwan's dancer. Something that Wonsik had known for some time, but he would never have pressed Hakyeon on it, even had Hakyeon never said a thing. And yet, it was as if a veil had been drawn away, a veil that neither Wonsik nor Hakyeon had even known existed.

But tonight was not a night for such thoughts of Hakyeon.

The scar on Taekwoon's face was no longer raw and angry, but was still jarring to look at. Sometimes, Wonsik would catch Taekwoon rubbing at it absentmindedly. His hair had grown longer, his bangs now falling over his eyes, pushed mostly to one side.

"Is it really so wrong of me to want to catch him?" Taekwoon's question was soft, strangely hesitant. Wonsik swallowed, but Taekwoon was not looking at him. He sensed that Taekwoon was not finished and only sipped at his wine, letting it burn in his throat. 

"You, Jaehwan, everyone says I should let it go. As if I'm the one who's in the wrong, to try to chase him down."

"I think," Wonsik said, a silence falling behind those two words. His voice in this small space sounded even the more gruff, for following after Taekwoon's. There was anger and hardness in Taekwoon's words, yet it could scarcely be heard in his voice unless one knew what they were looking for. It could be said to be one of Taekwoon's charms, one of those incongruities that made Taekwoon who he was.

Wonsik sighed again, a great breath leaving him all at once. "I don't think anyone thinks you're in the wrong, Taekwoon. We just don't like seeing you like this."

"Like what?" Taekwoon asked. His eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly.

Wonsik caught his lips between his teeth as he carefully thought over his next words. There were other reasons why Wonsik wished Taekwoon would let this go, and it niggled guiltily at him. But even before Hakyeon, hadn't Taekwoon already said that Wonsik hadn't seemed to want to catch him? 

"Like you have a grudge," Wonsik finally said. He watched Taekwoon, ready to move as soon as Taekwoon lunged for him across the table, but Taekwoon merely sighed, all the hardness seeping out of him in that one, slight sound.

"That's what Yixing said too," Taekwoon murmured. His lips quirked in irritation. "Jaehwan called me an idiot."

"I hope you didn't hit him," Wonsik said.

Taekwoon snorted. "The brat probably would have called for guards," he said.

"Give the guy more credit than that," Wonsik said.

"I do."

Taekwoon was staring off into space again as he said this, and there was something more behind his words that Wonsik did not feel right asking about. He would tell Wonsik when he wanted to. 

Something had changed between Taekwoon and Jaehwan after that night, when blood had run down Taekwoon's face and Jaehwan had cringed away from it. "It was stupid, what he did," Jaehwan had told Wonsik later, again, like he hadn't said it before. "I wouldn't think he'd go that far."

"Jaehwan's just worried," Wonsik said. "Even if he doesn't act like it. He didn't like seeing you hurt any more than the rest of us."

"I know." The answer followed Wonsik's words without a missed beat, slipping into the space between them.

Wonsik picked up the flagon and refilled Taekwoon's cup of wine.

"Taekwoon," Wonsik started, and then he paused, brows furrowing unconsciously. He caught his next words and then swallowed the thought, so that when Taekwoon looked to him, Wonsik was shaking his head to himself.

"Tell me," Taekwoon said. 

"It's not important," Wonsik said. Taekwoon scoffed.

"Which means it is important," Taekwoon said pointedly. "To you."

"I suppose," Wonsik said with a low laugh. "Not important right now, though."

"If it weren't, you wouldn't have brought it up," Taekwoon said.

"I didn't, did I?"

"You started, so you have to finish." Taekwoon nudged Wonsik's half finished cup of wine towards him, as if he needed the drink to say whatever it was he had to say. It made Wonsik laugh, that—Taekwoon could be unexpectedly cute at times.

Wonsik obligingly picked up his cup and took a sip. He held it in his hands for a moment longer, the ceramic cool against his skin.

"'What's Hongbin doing?' I thought that recently." He felt Taekwoon jerk away, even though Wonsik was still staring down at the clear wine in the cup. "But then I thought ' _is_ Hongbin doing?' and I couldn't stop myself."

Wonsik laughed, but it was one with no mirth, an attempt to fill space that he hadn't meant to make or leave, and that only bloomed when Wonsik unrightly assumed it would follow. The way the wine burned in his throat was always a pleasant one. He'd been young the first time he'd drank—really drank. One became a man, Wonsik learned that night, when they had lost too much. It had been the one kindness his father had shown him when it came to Hongbin. Wonsik still remembered it: the moon had been a bare crescent of silver and his father had called Wonsik out with him to see it. There were two cups on the table. His father had poured him wine before Wonsik could think to do it himself, and then he'd smiled at Wonsik, and told him it'd be the one and only time.

That had been a long time ago.

Wonsik laughed again, the same, dry laugh from moments earlier, only this time, it was to ease out of the silence that he himself had created. "I told you, it's not very important."

"It's been a while," Taekwoon said softly. 

"A while?"

"Since you spoke about him."

"Perhaps I've had too much wine," Wonsik said with a small chuckle. He quieted, his lips quirked. "I heard his name the other day."

Taekwoon's breath hitched at that. "It's not a common name," he said, and Wonsik nodded.

"That's what I told Jaehwan too," Wonsik said. "Startled me, that's all. Couldn't help but think about it, even if it's not important."

"Do you miss him?" Taekwoon asked, but immediately shook his head. Outside, there were rarely times when Taekwoon spoke without thinking over his words at least three times over, but with Wonsik, there were times when he blurted out the first words that came to mind. He had meant: "do you miss thinking of him?"

"I don't know," Wonsik admitted. He drained the wine this time, and let Taekwoon pour him more. It was warm inside him. Perhaps he wished he'd had too much wine, for there to be a better reason for him to be speaking of this.

"You miss missing him," Taekwoon said.

Wonsik laughed. "Perhaps," he said. "It's different from..."

"He's not dead," Taekwoon said, and Wonsik knew that Taekwoon had filled in Wonsik's unspoken words. Memories of light silk and gay colours, girlish laughter and the warmth of an embrace that Wonsik had long stopped seeking comfort in even before it had been taken from him. 

"I have to think that, don't I?" Wonsik murmured. He shook his head as if to clear it, but the hazy glow within him was comforting.

There was the sense of a conversation ending, and Taekwoon did not extend it, did not tease it out. It was something that Wonsik cherished in Taekwoon. Spending time with Taekwoon was so different than spending time with Jaehwan—and when had it become that it was only with these two that he had grown to live his life around? No, Wonsik knew the answer to that, but even the greatest minds could lie to themselves sometimes, and this was not an outright lie nor was Wonsik remotely one of the greatest minds. And there was a third, now, and how quickly could such changes happen. There was a third, and Wonsik was tired of losing.

He poured Taekwoon another cup, and Taekwoon filled his again. 

"I do have a question," Wonsik said. Taekwoon glanced up at him, and Wonsik glanced down at the papers, forgotten. "If it's not a grudge, why do you want to catch him so much?"

"Hah, I should have known you would ask," Taekwoon said, half under his breath, without so much a look at Wonsik. Instead, his eyes drifted down to where Wonsik's gaze was fixed. 

"Why shouldn't I? He's a criminal, why shouldn't I want to catch a criminal? He broke laws, and if no one else will catch him, then I will," Taekwoon said.

"You make it sound so simple," Wonsik said ruefully.

"Because it is."

"You've always been stubborn," Wonsik said. "The more we tell you to let it go, the less you will."

"It's not like I have anything better to do," Taekwoon muttered. His shoulders were hunched a little, almost defensive.

Wonsik wouldn't know, afterwards, why he said what he did. Perhaps it was because he'd been thinking about Hongbin. Perhaps it was because he'd been thinking about the past. Perhaps it was because more than anyone, he knew what Taekwoon was like, he knew that Taekwoon would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and Wonsik wanted nothing more for Taekwoon not to want this. It was cruel, uncalled for, and the moment the words left his mouth he wished he could take them back, he wished he could have never uttered them.

Because what he said was: "have you given up on your sister?"

The worst of it, the worst moment, is that as Wonsik braces for Taekwoon's anger, as he knows he deserves every bit of it—the worst is that it never comes. The worst is the way Taekwoon shakes his head in a no, and then he shakes his head again, but every inch of Taekwoon's body screams yes, and Wonsik wants to gather Taekwoon into the tightest hug. He abruptly looks so small and young, and tired and old at the same time, and this is so cruel of Wonsik, because he knows that Taekwoon has lost no less than Wonsik.

But Wonsik didn't. He watched Taekwoon shake his head, and saw the way his hands clenched into fists. Sat silently as Taekwoon bit at his lip, so hard as if he wanted to draw blood, but Taekwoon knew as well as Wonsik that no blood would come.

The worst was that Wonsik watched Taekwoon do all this for seconds upon seconds until time drew itself long like the shadow of an evening falling into night, before he finally, finally moved to Taekwoon, finally moved to sit next to him. How did one define the 'worst', when there was no part of a moment that was not better than any other? Because perhaps the worst is that when Wonsik wraps his arms about Taekwoon, pulls him against his chest, knows that Taekwoon is strong and broad and yet he feels, in this moment, as slight as Hakyeon—perhaps the worst is how Taekwoon does not pull away from him and curls into Wonsik instead, his body shuddering in Wonsik's arms.

Wonsik had been the poison, but his words had so shattered Taekwoon, that Taekwoon still clung to him as a cure.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

As if a mirror, the moon was a crescent low in the sky, the dog of darkness having slowly eaten across its surface until only a single silver sliver remained. They could not see it well now, hidden behind the veil of the window, surrounded by bright lamp light. It washed out the darkness beyond these walls, and with it, the bare glow from the moon.

"I didn't know he had a sister," Jaehwan mused. 

Jaehwan played with the cup between his fingers, tracing out the rim with one delicate tip. Like often, Wonsik found himself drawing comparisons with Taekwoon. He had once commented that Taekwoon had pretty fingers, he recalled. It was a fact that could not be disputed, but Jaehwan's fingers were nice in their own way. Not quite as long nor slender, but still well shaped.

Odd thoughts, these.

"I shouldn't have told you," Wonsik mumbled. They'd pushed aside the low wooden board, the chess pieces put safely away and rested on top of its smoothed surface in their respective boxes. "Taekwoon wouldn't want me to."

"It's why no one knows?"

"I don't know," Wonsik said.

"Why do you know?"

Wonsik exhaled a shaky laugh. "It's why we met, you know. Why he came to find me. Thought I could help him. Couldn't."

"He had a sister," Jaehwan said again.

"Has," Wonsik said, like a reflex.

"But she's been missing for years," Jaehwan said. He frowned, his brows creased, his face serious and Wonsik wished it wasn't, suddenly wished they weren't talking about this. Jaehwan wasn't drunk, not by a long shot, but his tongue was loosened and Wonsik wasn't sure he wanted to hear Jaehwan's next words. "It has to mean that she's dead."

"No, it doesn't," Wonsik said. "It doesn't mean that. Taekwoon's wrong, he can't give up on her."

"You don't think it's a little unfair?"

"That I think his sister is alive?"

"No. You want him to let go of one case you can't solve, but not let go of the other. And one is more likely to be solved than the other." Jaehwan's eyes were clear and hard when they met Wonsik's. Wonsik glanced away, down at his own cup. It was empty when he tipped it slightly, the light reflecting off the bottom, no wine to ease its shine. 

"I hate when you talk sense," Wonsik said, voice low and words barely articulate.

"I always talk sense!" Jaehwan preened, wrinkling his nose at Wonsik for good measure, but the moment fell away far too quickly. This room was too filled with words and thoughts that could not accommodate such things, could only let them slide off and melt away. It was not too much of a surprise for Wonsik, what Jaehwan's next words were.

"It's because of Hongbin, isn't it?" Jaehwan asked.

"Do I need to answer that?"

And that, that was an answer in itself.

The hardness that had been in Jaehwan's eyes had disappeared, but his words had still been detached, as if Jaehwan was afraid of claiming them. It was not very much like Jaehwan, who was so often careless with his words, who so often let his words be a little careless to make people laugh. He liked making people laugh. He was a good kid like that—he'd always try to cheer up those he cared about in whatever way he knew. Clumsy, at times. It was all part of what made Jaehwan, Jaehwan. A more refined Jaehwan would have seemed out of place.

He was being careful with his words now, and Wonsik would honour and acknowledge that. 

Hongbin. It all came back to Hongbin.

Everything did, if Wonsik were honest with himself, and it was easy to be honest with himself at times like this. He would not be here, drinking with the Eleventh Prince, speaking of Hongbin, had it not been for the friendship that Wonsik and Hongbin had shared as children, had it not been for the way that friendship had—no, it had not ended, nor had it vanished. Wonsik would never let it, even if he didn't know what Hongbin thought. He could only hope that Hongbin felt the same.

It did not feel so long ago, that evening when he'd walked with Jaehwan and had heard that name called out, like a spectre from the past. Much had changed since that night, and so in some ways it did feel very long ago. It did not feel so long ago that he had walked with Jaehwan; it felt like it had been half an eternity since Hakyeon had so precariously picked up a brush, and trusted Wonsik with his life.

"Your face is pink," Jaehwan suddenly said.

Wonsik's eyebrows shot up, and he met Jaehwan's eyes. Jaehwan only shrugged, his head tilted a little as if in thought, brows creased as if studying Wonsik with great care.

"It is," Jaehwan said. "It's very pink."

Wonsik couldn't help but laugh. "Is it?" he said, as he reached across the table to refill Jaehwan's cup. He hadn't meant to fill his own, but it was habit and courtesy that did it, and there was nothing for it but to raise his cup to Jaehwan and drink.

"It's not wrong to say that Hongbin and I grew up together," Wonsik said after a moment. "But Taekwoon had only his sister. Is it really so wrong that I don't think he should give up searching for her?"

"He asked me something like that—was it really so wrong that he didn't think he should give up on catching the thief? That's what he asked me," Jaehwan said. His cup was still full, and he made no move to drink from it yet.

"He asked me the same thing," Wonsik said, and then he laughed in the way where one laughed when there seemed to be little other response to their own words. He'd known, of course, that Taekwoon had asked Jaehwan that very question.

"It isn't wrong," Wonsik said, "but it's different. What will come out of catching the thief? He's returned what he can—but if Taekwoon could find his sister..."

"Maybe," Jaehwan said very slowly, his eyes finding the table and becoming entranced by the polished surface, "he doesn't want to find his sister."

Had Wonsik's mind not been dulled by drink, perhaps he may have been able to catch on the thread of Jaehwan's meaning. But whether he had chosen that night the soft haze that wine lent, or if it had been the acquired consequence of the pleasant warmth it bestowed, Wonsik could not have been sure. Is it not so often the truth, when it comes to such nights, no matter if it is the woodcutter or the Emperor himself who questions it?

Yet, even had his mind not been dulled by drink, he may have willfully feigned ignorance, because it is often easier to do so.

And so: "I don't understand," Wonsik said.

And so: "Would you rather find Hongbin dead, or continue to think he's alive?" Jaehwan asked.

It may have been spoken as a question, but it was not a question. 

Wonsik might have sharply gasped—it would have been the appropriate response for such harsh words. His breath instead caught in his throat, choking. His hands balled into fists, his head was bowed, his eyes, he'd find later, were squeezed shut. 

Jaehwan's eyes had been on Wonsik when he had spoken those words, but they fell again to the table. It was a difficult thing, to acknowledge that one had wounded a friend, and even more difficult to know that the words he'd spoken had been intentional. He could not know that it had been only two days earlier, that Wonsik had done the same. 

When Wonsik finally spoke, his voice, he found, was low and unsteady. "Do not ask me to answer that," he said. And then: "do not ask Taekwoon to answer that."

Because Jaehwan had never known when to stop, when it would be better to let a thread of conversation fall, he said: "you already asked him that."

It was true, of course, but in the moments before Wonsik had spoken, Wonsik had already known that truth.

Heat was prickling at his eyes, and Wonsik squeezed his eyes shut tighter, bit at his lip and willed himself to draw blood, but his teeth and nails both too blunt to do so. Life was not fair—so much of life was not fair; one could be born as a woodcutter or an Emperor, and the woodcutter could live a life that was uneventful and hard and surrounded by his family, while the Emperor could have risen to the throne at the death of his brothers, at the hand of his father's wife. The Heavens were kind as they were cruel, senseless as they were whimsical, and all that was fated would happen and that had brought them all to here.

"That was... I'm sorry, Wonsik. That was unkind of me. It was something I cannot have you forgive me for—"

"Don't Jaehwan, if you have any care for me, don't," Wonsik choked out. He did not miss Jaehwan's slip into formality, into the stilted language of the court; it was hard to miss. It meant that Jaehwan was at a loss, that he knew he'd fucked up, and Wonsik ought to reassure him, but he could no more find the words for it, any more than could Jaehwan.

So he looked up, ignoring the red in his eyes, and reached for Jaehwan's cup as nearly full as it was and pouring it to the brim. Wonsik was as much at a loss. 

Wonsik picked up his own cup, raised it to Jaehwan. He spoke words that were all but prescribed, and took support from it, if there was no comfort to be taken. "I drink to you, and the kindness you have always shown us," he said, and then drank it dry. Jaehwan, almost thankful, acknowledged Wonsik and drank as well.

And as such, the moment passed. Calm fell over them both. Calm and stillness, and then Jaehwan said something, and Wonsik said something, and Jaehwan said something that made them both laugh. Wonsik grabbed Jaehwan in a headlock and ruffled his hair, and Jaehwan whined and then lay down in Wonsik's lap, and let himself be fussed over in a very put-off manner.

The night was far from young when Wonsik finally stood. They had again fallen quiet for quite some time.

"There's a bed," Jaehwan said, as if there wasn't always a bed. He yawned, stretching, and clambered to his feet as well.

"No," Wonsik said, "I'm gonna go."

"What? It's too late for you to go home," Jaehwan said. "I'm gonna make you stay—"

"I'm not going home," Wonsik said. "It's too far."

Jaehwan frowned for a moment, and then his eyes opened wide in realisation and he nodded. "I get why you don't want to stay," he said.

"No, Jaehwan, it's not you," Wonsik said. A flash of guilt, sadness, Wonsik couldn't tell had surfaced briefly in Jaehwan's eyes, in the way his lids had settled heavily. "I'd... I'd just like to go."

"Alright," Jaehwan said. He nodded. "I can walk you."

"Save that for your lover," Wonsik teased. He wasn't unsteady, but the world was still hazy in front of him as he let Jaehwan at least walk him to the door. 

The palace at night was always quiet; at times Wonsik found it eerie, at times he found it peaceful. No matter how quiet the city at night could get, there was always some hint of life. Here, with so much life sheltered behind walls and gates and then walls and doors, night was simply a void that Wonsik alone seemed to fill.

The clouds had drawn a veil over the sky, and the moon which would now be low in the sky had disappeared. There were no lights on when Wonsik reached his destination; something he noted only after he first tried the door to find it locked, and then knocked at it, calling softly inside.

And yet, it was bare seconds later that there was the sound of quick steps, and then the door opening much like it had months ago.

"Wonsik? This is a surprise," Hakyeon said—a mirror of months ago, only this time it was hushed by the night and it was real surprise on Hakyeon's face. He had clearly been asleep, dressed in only a thin robe, his hair unbound and tumbling messily down his back. 

"I... Sorry, I woke you," Wonsik mumbled. He should have stayed with Jaehwan.

"I'm a light sleeper," Hakyeon said. He ushered Wonsik into a darkness more complete than the night outside. It didn't last long; Wonsik soon found himself blinking away starbursts.

"Did you miss me that much?" Hakyeon asked. He led Wonsik to the table—Wonsik wasn't sure if he'd rather have been brought straight to bed. Wonsik wasn't quite sure what he wanted.

"I didn't realise how late it was," Wonsik said. It sounded lame to his own ears. Of course he'd known it was late. Jaehwan had said it was late. 

"You were drinking with Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. It was as if he'd been reading his thoughts. Wonsik frowned, and Hakyeon reached over the table and brushed hair away from Wonsik's face. "You smell like alcohol, and you must have come from Jaehwan's, it's too far for you to have come from anywhere else."

"You should be an investigator," Wonsik said. Hakyeon laughed, and patted Wonsik's shoulder.

"Here, let me get you some tea," Hakyeon said.

"Why did you become a thief?" Wonsik asked.

There was the sudden clink of ceramic against itself, and then them both being placed down on a wooden tray.

"We all have to eat somehow," Hakyeon said. He knelt by Wonsik, his sleeve brushing against Wonsik's arm as he leaned over and placed the tea down. Hakyeon was very close as he poured tea for Wonsik, and just as close as he sat by him, on the floor.

"You're an investigator, and I was a thief," Hakyeon said. "But I'm not one anymore."

"I'm not actually an investigator," Wonsik admitted. "Not officially at least. Don't get paid for it."

"Mm, I do seem to recall that. Imagine my surprise when I find that the two men hot on my tail weren't even sent properly by the court. And imagine how pleased I was to find how attractive one of you were," Hakyeon said.

"I'm—Taekwoon's the attractive one," Wonsik mumbled.

"Would you like me to sleep with him instead?" Hakyeon murmured, his voice low and by Wonsik's ear. He laughed before Wonsik could even properly react, and placed a hand on Wonsik's thigh. "I'm teasing, love."

"My answer to your question doesn't change—we all have to eat somehow, and the world isn't so kind to let us live for free," Hakyeon said. He followed his words with a sigh, and gently stroked down Wonsik's leg. "I don't think that's the answer you were looking for."

"Taekwoon wants to catch you," Wonsik said.

Hakyeon smiled, eyes falling briefly shut. "He does seem the type," he said. "That scar of his doesn't help, does it?"

"No, it doesn't," Wonsik said with a chuckle.

Hakyeon rested his head against Wonsik's side. 

"Why didn't you stay with Jaehwan?"

"I..." It wasn't, Wonsik was sure, because of Jaehwan himself. He had told Jaehwan as much, and he had not lied. He picked up the cup between his hands and sipped at the tea. It didn't clear his mind much, but Wonsik was starting to think it was less from the wine, and more from the hour. It was a detached thought; there was always that part of Wonsik's mind that made such observations, that stashed and stored them away even when Wonsik's mind was otherwise occupied.

"I wanted to come here," Wonsik said. His voice was low and gruff and almost hesitant as he said this, but this too was true. It wasn't the true answer to Hakyeon's question, but it was difficult for Wonsik to give Hakyeon an answer when Wonsik himself could not give form to that answer himself.

"You spoke of something with Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. Wonsik startled and pulled away, his eyes meeting Hakyeon's as he looked down, eyes wide. A smile of some sort curled the corner of Hakyeon's mouth, but it was not one of joy or amusement.

"You're too perceptive," Wonsik said.

"Trade hazard I'm afraid," Hakyeon said. "Or I'd be captured or dead a long time ago, and neither seem very pleasant."

"No," Wonsik agreed. "I wouldn't like that either."

"What a thing for an investigator to say," Hakyeon said.

"Not official," Wonsik reminded him. He found himself carding his fingers through Hakyeon's hair—when had he started to do that? But there seemed to be no reason to stop, and Hakyeon had only leaned into him more. Warm, solid, comforting. Familiar, despite how short these few months had been. 

"I had a friend," Wonsik said, and then paused, brows creasing immediately into a frown. "Have."

"You don't have to speak of it to me," Hakyeon said. "That isn't what I meant."

"I don't have to," Wonsik agreed.

Hakyeon unpressed himself from Wonsik's side and came to stand behind him. Wonsik let himself be tugged backwards until he leant against Hakyeon, caught Hakyeon's hands with his as Hakyeon draped his arms across Wonsik's chest. His eyes fell closed; Hakyeon pulled one of his hands free and brushed it through Wonsik's hair.

"If it weren't for what happened to Hongbin, I don't think I'd have ever met you," Wonsik said.

"You've been drinking," Hakyeon said. He grasped Wonsik's hand with one hand and stroked through Wonsik's hair with the other. He laughed a little. "So maudlin."

"So let me be," Wonsik said. "Trying to find him, it's why I started investigating—'cause no one official would do it. But I was a kid. My dad, he thought, I... I don't know, but he asked me to look into a case, and I solved it. I couldn't find Hongbin, but I could solve a murder. Strange way to distract your son."

He could still remember that. Could remember begging his father to help him find where Hongbin had gone, could remember his father telling him _do you know where he lives? Who his family is? How would you expect anyone to find him? Our men are busy enough without searching for someone like him. No, it's about time you grew up and stopped playing with street urchins, son._

"You've been drinking," Hakyeon said again. Something in his voice sent a pang through Wonsik's heart, it was too tender, Hakyeon's voice was too tender. 

"I stopped looking for him a long time ago," Wonsik said—the words were an admission that Wonsik didn't know he had. He laughed, short and bitter. "Makes me a bad friend, doesn't it."

"No, no it doesn't," Hakyeon said. He pulled Wonsik to his feet and Wonsik went, and for a brief instant, Wonsik thought he might have seen tears glisten in Hakyeon's eyes. Yes, he had been drinking, but he'd walked all the way here. He was clear minded enough for that.

Hakyeon led him to the bed, and sat him down on the edge of it. Wonsik shook his head—"come, I'd never take advantage of you like this. Sleep and we can speak in the morning."

"I won't want to in the morning," Wonsik said.

"Then it's better not to say it at all, rather than regret it tomorrow," Hakyeon said firmly.

"It won't be regret," Wonsik said. "I... I won't be brave enough."

"You are a strange man, Kim Wonsik," Hakyeon said. He began to undress Wonsik slowly, and Wonsik let him. It was familiar. How strange that it had become familiar.

"Didn't think we'd go past that one night," Wonsik said, as he moved his arms to let Hakyeon pull his undershirt off. He shivered as the autumn night hit his bare skin.

"Mm? Even though you knew Jaehwan wanted to—ah, how did you put it, 'keep me'?"

"Didn't think you'd want to," Wonsik murmured. "Thought you were doing it because you couldn't refuse me."

A sharp irritated noise—followed by a hard pinch of Wonsik's arm that had him yelping. "I would not do something like that, if I didn't want to," Hakyeon said. There was fire and ice in his eyes, and Wonsik stared at him wide-eyed, but just as quick was it gone, replaced by a soft, apologetic smile.

"Did you know, me and Jaehwan?" Wonsik asked.

"Oh? Is there something between the two of you I don't know about? I'm hurt, Wonsik, am I not enough for you?" Hakyeon teased, mocking such a wounded tone that Wonsik couldn't help but fluster.

"I mean, that Jaehwan and I were friends, that—"

"Yes I did. Do you really think I'd walk in so unprepared?"

"So, you..."

"I thought I was done already," Hakyeon said softly. He ran a hand down Wonsik's back, his callouses catching on Wonsik's smooth skin. "I wanted to speak to you, and I was tired of running. But I couldn't refuse the last one, and look where that got me."

"You were very hurt," Wonsik said. He fumbled, reaching for Hakyeon's arm, because their limbs weren't in the right places.

"It wasn't so bad," Hakyeon said.

"You bled all over my doorstep," Wonsik said wryly.

"It was only a scratch," Hakyeon said. Wonsik laughed at the affront in Hakyeon's tone, gave up on finding the right one of Hakyeon's scars.

Words bubbled under Wonsik's skin, surrounded by the warmth of Hakyeon's touch, the half-glow of a single mid-night lantern. Words, so many words. He hadn't spoken of this in so long. It had been so long ago. A decade, almost. How much time had passed. How old they had all grown. He caught his breath, and then caught his breath again. That night could have been said to be a couplet, and the couplet could be said to have been the opening to a poem, waiting for a second couplet to match it in every way. There was no poem—there was only Wonsik with words and memories.

"I told Taekwoon that—I can't say that. I heard Hongbin's name the other day, I haven't thought of him in so long, it made me realise."

"Shh, shh," Hakyeon murmured into Wonsik's hair.

He was crying, Wonsik realised, there was heat in his eyes. He laughed, shakily, and how embarrassing for Hakyeon to see him like this. Hakyeon was merely a dancer, Wonsik ought to be the strong one, and here he was, being comforted because of memories he thought he'd already forgotten, but hadn't meant to ever forget.

"Sometimes I think I've forgotten him too," Hakyeon said. "No, not your Hongbin. He was my... student? Apprentice? My little brother, yes, he was my little brother. Is. See, I did that too." Hakyeon sighed, a deep sigh that reverberated against Wonsik. 

"What happened to him?" Wonsik asked.

"Mm? I don't know," Hakyeon said. He exhaled again, as if there was an answer in that breath itself. "Haven't seen him in years. I had to... I had to stop looking for him eventually. I've stolen from imperial villas and military generals, but he's always been the one thing I've never been able to steal back. And Hongbin, is he the one case you've never been able to solve?"

Wonsik nodded. The rhythm of Hakyeon's words had soothed him, calmed him, and now with everything having piled up to this moment, sleep was tugging at him, urging him to put this all down and descend into calm oblivion, to wake in the morning with this night fallen into the haze of memory. But then Wonsik shook his head, and felt for Hakyeon's hand that had fallen again onto his thigh.

"There's you," Wonsik said. "I never got to catch you."

"No," Hakyeon hummed, "or I wouldn't be right here, would I be?"

There was a truth to Hakyeon's words, but it was not the one that Wonsik thought. Memories were a strange beast, a cat curled up in the corner that refused to sleep, yet so quiet and still one often forgot that it was present, until a quiet call brought it close, to rub its head against your leg, demanding attention. A cat was warm, soft, comforting, but its weight would always be there when it'd settled on your lap, and at times, unwilling to be dislodged, it will dig its claws into your legs before finally leaping off to return to its corner. A cat was calming in its very presence, like the arm that Hakyeon still had about Wonsik. He ought, Wonsik thought through the insistence of sleep, hold Hakyeon in the same way for he knew from the shaky breath Hakyeon had taken that memory had taken hold of Hakyeon as well. But he had drank with Jaehwan that night, and he had come to find Hakyeon, and there was a significance in that itself.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"She wasn't this noisy at home," Wonsik said sheepishly.

He looked down at the little white dog in Hakyeon's lap, her incessant yaps resounding in the room. She'd even been quiet through the trip here in the carrying cage.

Hakyeon's eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked up at Wonsik with a delighted laugh. "Isn't she just excited to see me?" he asked. His smile softened as he looked down at the dog, and Wonsik's heart melted at the sight. "She'll calm down, won't she."

"I think so?" Wonsik said.

"Look, she already is," Hakyeon said, and she was, resting her head against Hakyeon's leg and curling up almost like a cat. Her yaps slowly died down to the occasional snuffle as Hakyeon continued patting her head.

"You're just full of surprises," Hakyeon said, still smiling down at the dog. "But this might be the biggest one of all."

"She won't grow much bigger," Wonsik said. He didn't think Hakyeon had the space to care for too big a dog.

"Where did she come from?" Hakyeon asked.

"A friend asked me to take care of her," Wonsik said, "but I thought, maybe you'd like a companion."

"Oh? You think I'm lonely?" Hakyeon asked, a teasing quirk of his brows. "Are you not going to come so much, should I name her Wonsikkie?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Wonsik protested. He could feel a flush rising in his face, and an odd desire to cover it. 

"What's the real reason?" 

"That is the real reason," Wonsik said. He caught his lip between his teeth, knowing that it wasn't the answer that Hakyeon was seeking. There were always reasons behind reasons. Yes, Taemin had asked him to take care of his dog because he was being posted to the border, and yes, Wonsik had thought that it would be good for Hakyeon to have a companion.

"It's just that other than me and Eunji, you don't talk to anyone. Jaehwan doesn't come by very often either," Wonsik said slowly.

"No, Jaehwan's never touched me once," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik's heart jerked at that.

"Do you... do you want him to?" Wonsik asked. "I think it's because of me that he won't."

Hakyeon laughed quietly, so as to not disturb the dog. "The Prince is a very attractive man," Hakyeon said. "But I rather like not having to sleep with more than one man—" Hakyeon's hand flew to his mouth, his fingers curled, and he just as quickly shrugged it off with a small laugh.

"You're quite enough to satisfy me," Hakyeon said with a sly smile.

Heat flushed to Wonsik's face again. "Is it alright for you to take care of her?" he quickly said before the conversation could fall in a direction that Wonsik would never be able to rescue himself from. He found that such things happened far more often than he'd like, when the conversation was being had with Hakyeon. Hakyeon had just said something he hadn't meant; Wonsik knew that, he'd be a fool to not but he also was not so cruel as to pick at it. It was with almost a breath of relief that Hakyeon nodded. He was still patting the dog, and Wonsik had not known it was possible for Hakyeon to have even more tender of an expression than Wonsik had already seen on him.

"It'll be my honour," Hakyeon said. "Thank you."

"Good, I'm not sure Kyungmo would have been too happy taking care of her," Wonsik said, heaving an exaggerated sigh of relief. "He's more of a cat person."

"Oh? That's surprising," Hakyeon said.

"Huh, why?"

"He seems fond of you, and you seem more of the dog type," Hakyeon said. His lips curled at the corners. "Good thing I'm a dog person, hm?"

"Take good care of her," Wonsik said, refusing to rise to the bait, even if something fluttered in his heart.

"Of course I will," Hakyeon said. "Especially as it's you who entrusted her to me; but I would treat her well regardless."

"This isn't related to her," Wonsik started to say. He interrupted himself with a deep breath, unsure of how Hakyeon would react. Hakyeon met his eyes quizzically, a slight tilt of his head. "But thank you, for that night."

"Which—oh, oh Wonsik, that's nothing that should be thanked," Hakyeon said. "If I didn't have Fluffy on my lap here, I'd tell you to come here so I could give you a hug."

" _Fluffy_?" Wonsik gaped at Hakyeon. "You've already named her?"

"Why, is Fluffy not a good name? She's very fluffy," Hakyeon said, a small pout on his face of complete innocence. "Ah, unless you did want me to name her Wonsikkie? Is it okay to give a girl a boy's name though—but if you want me to name her Wonsikkie, of course I can name her Wonsikkie."

"No, Fluffy is fine." Wonsik groaned, putting his face into his hands.

"Good," Hakyeon said, sitting up straight, exceedingly pleased with himself. "I'll take good care of Fluffy. Hm, I do hope Eunji is alright with dogs."

"Where is she?" Wonsik asked.

"Off talking to Chorong I think," Hakyeon said. "Since there's not much for her to do here right now."

"Your serving girl socialises more than you do," Wonsik said with a sigh. "That isn't right."

"What isn't right about it?" Hakyeon asked. He scratched Fluffy behind the ears, and the dog snuffled.

"Is this really what you wanted when you came to Jaehwan?" Wonsik asked.

"It's too early for all these hard questions," Hakyeon said lightly.

"I didn't mean it to be," Wonsik said, rubbing at the back of his ear in discomfort. He exhaled deeply. Sometimes, speaking with Hakyeon was like being in a spring storm, sun one moment and rain the next, a brisk wind fading into nothingness and then swirling about once again. Sometimes, it was an autumn evening, cool and brisk after a burning summer. Sometimes there was no conversation, simply Hakyeon's body against his, sleek and beautiful in every way, and Wonsik loved those moments as much as any.

But Hakyeon was also an enigma, a puzzle that Wonsik couldn't solve, and that Wonsik wasn't sure he wanted to solve. At times, he was abruptly aware of how much Hakyeon knew about Wonsik, and how little Wonsik knew about Hakyeon. He knew that Hakyeon was a dancer, that Hakyeon revelled in the every movement of his body, of the control he had, of his love for performing. He knew that Hakyeon had been a thief, and he knew that Hakyeon could scale the side of a building and leap from a roof faster than Wonsik could even run on the ground. He knew that there were times when Hakyeon had a love for sweet things, and he knew that Hakyeon had beautiful calligraphy, and that his fingers were deft and adroit and could produce beautiful cross-stitchings and paper flowers.

And was that not enough?

For Wonsik also knew—and what a moment of realisation it had been, and what a realisation it was—that without knowing, he loved Hakyeon.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

Wonsik had not been expecting it to rain.

"It looked sunny," Wonsik said. He'd stepped to the edge of the pavillion and held a hand out, as if the veracity of the rain needed to be tested. Behind him, Hakyeon was rubbing futilely at his hair with a small square cloth.

"It _is_ sunny," Hakyeon pointed out.

And it was. The clouds from which the rain poured did little to obscure the sun, although the sun's rays were dulled and filtered through a shimmering veil. Hakyeon sneezed—it was no surprise, he wasn't wearing nearly enough, not when he preferred the thinner silks and hadn't thought to wear something to break the wind. Wonsik's jacket was damp, but it was still dry on the inside.

"Don't get sick," Wonsik said.

Hakyeon's eyes flashed wide before they softened into a smile. He let Wonsik drape his jacket about his shoulders, although he didn't put his arms through the sleeves.

"What a gentleman," Hakyeon said. He laughed a little, perhaps because Wonsik couldn't help the pink tinge in his ears from Hakyeon's words. 

The rain fell beyond the eaves, calm yet relentless and steady. They had been greeted by a downpour but it had subsided now, though it mattered little when they were sheltered under a roof. It could be pleasant to sit like this while watching the rain—pleasant were one not wet. Particularly a rain such as this one; the sky yet like a painting, the clouds so few and still parting for the sun.

"A fox bride's rain," Hakyeon said suddenly.

He was standing beside Wonsik now, so close that Wonsik fancied he could feel the brush of Hakyeon's shoulders through the sliver of space between them. Water still dripped from the ends of Hakyeon's hair; a drop clung stubbornly to a few strands, light bouncing inside like a jewel as it swayed before it finally fell with a lurch, disappearing into the crook of Hakyeon's neck. His head ducked as he said this, his cheeks forming small lines as he smiled, creases beneath his eyes and an abashed laugh.

"It's a silly thought but I've always liked it," Hakyeon said, looking up again although the soft curl of his cheeks remained.

"Fox bride's rain?" Wonsik echoed.

"More old stories from across the sea," Hakyeon said softly. He stepped forward, so near to the rain that it misted against his skin. "It's said that the fox bride is crying tears of joy, as the wedding procession crosses through the sky. No one's ever seen it, but I don't think I'd like it as much if they had."

Hakyeon followed this with another laugh, as if embarrassed, and Wonsik wanted to reach forward and tuck Hakyeon against his chest. Yet, alone though they were, it was impossible to say if there was someone beyond the Heavens who was watching, or who would catch a chance sight.

Whatever Hakyeon called him and however Wonsik held him behind closed doors and shielded windows, it dissipated as a dream under the sky and the sun, even dulled by the rain like it was now. It remained in the lingering glances they shared, when Hakyeon might purposely walk a little too close to Wonsik—in the way Wonsik's heart still lurched every time he looked at Hakyeon, every time Hakyeon smiled, every time the corners of his eyes creased as he turned to look at something in close detail. But no matter how things were within the safety of cloistered walls, Hakyeon was Jaehwan's dancer, and Wonsik was merely Jaehwan's friend. Such things mattered, and even if they might be bent by Emperors and Princes, Wonsik was neither and could only watch the minute shift of the lines of Hakyeon's neck.

"Come, shall we walk a little?" Hakyeon asked. He glanced at Wonsik over his shoulder, and gods he was beautiful, soft eyes set against tan skin, and could anyone blame Wonsik for wanting to kiss his lover right there and then, rain still dripping from the ends of his hair, Hakyeon still wiping it from his face as they fell?

"I think Fluffy might not want to," Wonsik said. He gestured at the dog, curled off at the far end of the pavilion, her white fur as wet as Hakyeon's hair and at odds with her name. She cracked an eye open at her name, but made no other move to venture from apparent sleep.

"If you're so taken with her, you should have her live with you," Hakyeon teased.

"But she's yours," Wonsik said.

"Then I'd just have to come live with you too, wouldn't I?" Hakyeon said with a small laugh—he froze just before Wonsik did, with a sharp inhale that took with it any loss of composure as it left Hakyeon again, replacing it with only an expression of mock indifference. "Although I have to warn you, I eat a bit more than Fluffy."

"I'm sure we could manage somehow," Wonsik said, "although considering how much Fluffy eats for someone so small..."

"Are you calling me fat?" Hakyeon asked, puffing himself up. 

"What no! You're perfect," Wonsik said.

An absurd fantasy swirled in his mind; Wonsik with enough of a name for himself to establish his own residence, Hakyeon tempted from Jaehwan's service into his own, only it wouldn't be in Wonsik's service, no Hakyeon would be there every morning when Wonsik woke and there would be no fear or hiding, and perhaps Wonsik could even present Hakyeon to his father as an equal. It was but a fantasy, but it still made Wonsik heady, his throat tightening momentarily with the thought. He let it out with his very next breath, as unremarkable as the last, and the one that followed.

"Yes, I _am_ perfect aren't I," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik turned to Hakyeon fondly. His eyes were lovely; the corners tapering off painted with a darkness that no amount of make-up could ever hope to replicate. 

"You really are a show-off," Wonsik said, his own laugh lower and rougher than Hakyeon's, which may as well have been the sound of clear bells.

"It's part of what makes me perfect," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik bit back a sigh. Hakyeon's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his lashes just touching. When he opened them, he yet stared out to the rain.

"Hope it'll let up soon," Wonsik said.

"Mm, but it's pretty, with the sun," Hakyeon said. "It's not something you see often."

"I guess not?"

"Oh that's right, speaking of Taekwoon—whatever did happen to the one with the," Hakyeon waved his hand, finally turning to look at Wonsik, "the ring you brought back. The scary one."

"The scary one?" Wonsik felt his eyebrows go up without his own volition, before he laughed. "You could give Taekwoon a real fight on who's the bigger wuss."

"It looked like it could eat me!" Hakyeon protested, looking very disgruntled. "The whole... teeth and eyes thing."

"That's right, I was so busy helping Jaehwan with the paperwork I forgot to tell you that you were right," Wonsik said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, about these performer types. I dunno how we didn't think to check the bottom of the makeup boxes. It was all there, even a receipt for the payment." Wonsik scratched the back of his neck as he thought back to the case. He beamed at Hakyeon. "I ever tell you how Jaehwan thought you could be a government official, maybe even an investigator?"

"Oh? Me? Now why would he think a dancer could be any of those things," Hakyeon said, words falling quiet as he spoke.

Wonsik blew out a long breath of air, knowing that this was not a time or place such things out to be spoken aloud. Hakyeon was entirely in the right. 

"A fox bride's rain," Wonsik said, the words rolling strangely off his tongue, an incomplete mimicry of Hakyeon. It didn't sound right in Wonsik's mouth, even if the words were the same.

"A lovely name for a lovely thing," Hakyeon said.

"But couldn't it be tears of sorrow?" Wonsik asked. "That makes it less lovely."

"The joy of stories, you giant doofus, is that we can choose the endings," Hakyeon said, frowning at Wonsik crossly.

" _Doofus_?"

"Oh—" Hakyeon's hand flew to his mouth, the way it always did when he realised half a moment too late how egregious his words were. It only seemed to happen with Wonsik, and Wonsik wished he could tell Hakyeon that he _really_ didn't care about such things. Yet, other than with Eunji, Wonsik had only heard Hakyeon speak in the formal tones of the court, his language abasing himself, deferring all power to the other with his prescribed words. It was harder to speak out of turn in such ways, as long as one knew the silk thin lines on which one must walk.

"It's fine," Wonsik said. He cleared his throat, disliking how gruff his words had sounded.

"I asked the same thing," Hakyeon said unexpectedly. His tone softened, the teasing gone. Such moments when Hakyeon relinquished control, when he let the conversation float untethered, unbridled—Wonsik found them to be so rare that he did not so much treasure them, so much as his heart ached for how vulnerable it made Hakyeon seem. There were times when it felt like an offering, an apology; it wrenched at Wonsik's gut.

"Why is it that she's crying from joy, and not from sorrow—can the sun not shine on sadness? But there's enough sadness in life without bringing them to our stories," Hakyeon said. "Don't you think so?"

_So many stories are sad ones_ , Wonsik wanted to say. _Almost all the stories are sad ones._ He did not say these things. He nodded, because Hakyeon was not wrong.

"Perhaps we choose happy endings for our stories, because there are never happy endings in life," Hakyeon said.

"Are we not a happy ending?" Wonsik asked. Hakyeon laughed at that, bowed in acknowledgment to Wonsik in a motion that had his sleeve accidentally brushing against Wonsik's. Even that touch was proof enough to Wonsik of his own words. 

The world was a sorrowful place, but perhaps it was why men chose to channel that sorrow into verse and song, to weave it into stories, so that the colour of joy could be left behind for the living. 

"Does it look like the rain is letting up to you?" Hakyeon asked. "It does, doesn't it?"

"Shall we go back?" Wonsik asked.

Hakyeon hummed. "A little longer, I think. It's been a while since I've been out, I don't think I'm ready to end this excursion so soon. And you'll rush off once you see me safely to my haven, and I'd like to keep you to myself a little longer. Besides, it _is_ still raining, and it's not bad here, where the rain can't get us."

"You'll catch cold if you don't dry off," Wonsik said, rubbing at his ear as he processed Hakyeon's words. He couldn't quite find the proper way to respond. 

"I haven't been sick in years and don't intend on getting sick," Hakyeon said with a small laugh.

Hakyeon had gathered his sleeves between his hands, held almost at his chest in a near facsimile of a greeting, made towards the world itself. It seemed impossible to Wonsik to not look at Hakyeon and immediately be struck by his beauty, even if he had turned away only mere seconds ago.

The rain had indeed lightened, and the world was no longer in such a haze. It was a pity that they had not been able to come far, that they had been interrupted so soon by the rain—Wonsik would have liked to take Hakyeon to the largest of the palace gardens, to show him how beautiful they were. The thought almost made Wonsik laugh—Hakyeon had been to the greatest imperial retreat, he would have seen a sight far more beautiful. Yet, to see a thing and to be able to enjoy a thing were two very different things. One could have the most exquisite peach placed in front of them, but until they tasted the juice of it itself, they could never understand why the immortals had so closely guarded the fruit.

Yes, the rain had lightened, and the sky was clear enough that it was reasonable it would soon stop altogether. It wouldn't be bad to wait until then before they returned; without wetting themselves further, and Fluffy may have been persuaded to walk. And, as Hakyeon had said, it had been some time since he'd been out.

Cast against the light veil of rain, of droplets which gathered and spilled off the eaves and to the stone by their feet, it was easy to forget that Hakyeon was anything but a dancer in Jaehwan's retinue. Wonsik had travelled and seen more than most, but how many places had Hakyeon been and things that Hakyeon had seen that Wonsik never had and never would? For one, Wonsik would never see the fabled vase of the temple, nor would he ever see the inside of the Cheon manor's kitchens at night. Nor would he have ever risked his freedom or life to have tried.

The lives of men were wound in mysterious ways, threads of fate binding and twining into a tapestry of brilliant colours. Threads brought together in sorrow could twine together in joy, just as those tied in joy could be cut away in sorrow. In another cycle of lives, perhaps Wonsik would have been the thief and Hakyeon the investigator, but in this one, Wonsik couldn't and didn't know why Hakyeon had done the things he had. _We all have to eat somehow_ , Hakyeon had said—when had he said that? Hakyeon's voice sounded in Wonsik's ear in a memory, the brush of silk against his arm, of Hakyeon's warmth by his shoulder. 

Yet one did not wake up one day and decide to become a thief. One was not born with the sort of skills that Hakyeon bore in his bones, the ones that spoke to a life of hard training. He'd seen it in Taekwoon, and knew that they ran even further in Hakyeon. His body was slender, lithe, strong, flexible; necessary in both of Hakyeon's trades. No, to call them that was to do a disservice to Hakyeon—necessary in both Hakyeon's life, and what he had once done.

The lives of men never ran in straight lines, and Wonsik could not begin to fathom what could have led him to be standing at the edge of this pavilion next to the most beautiful man that Wonsik had ever seen, if it were not fate itself. For them to have at all met, for Wonsik having been the one on his case, for Hakyeon to have somehow, inexplicably, fallen—and here, Wonsik's heart would always stutter at the impossibility, the improbability—in love.

What Wonsik said next was not what he'd meant to ask—not in such words, and so perhaps it was right that the words he received in response were just as unexpected.

"Do you ever think of death?" Wonsik asked.

"Every soldier does." Hakyeon's reply was immediate, his glance towards Wonsik, the slight quirk of his lips less so.

"You're not a soldier," Wonsik said.

"No, but I knew one once," Hakyeon said. Hakyeon met Wonsik's eyes evenly, and Wonsik felt trapped by their gaze. He wished he could read Hakyeon's eyes as Hakyeon seemed to be able to read Wonsik's every move, but all he could read from them was the warmth of colour. 

"More than knew," Wonsik said, and this time, the words he received in response seemed to fill an answer he already had.

"Yes," Hakyeon said softly, and his eyes drifted away from Wonsik as if a compulsion, as if tearing away Wonsik's right to look into them. "I loved a soldier who came from across the sea, and who left for the sea. It is not only soldiers who think of death. But the answer I gave you—it was the one he gave me, all those years ago."

_Sanghyuk_ , Wonsik knew. _Sanghyuk_ , Hakyeon had cried out in his sleep, and it had petered into such tears that Wonsik might be able to wipe from Hakyeon's face, but would never be able to soothe in his soul. _I'm a light sleeper_ , Hakyeon had said, but Wonsik had held him and kissed the top of Hakyeon's head as one might a child, and Hakyeon had not woken, and had only clutched at Wonsik with the desperate strength of one dreaming but asleep.

"And you?" Wonsik asked.

Hakyeon's laugh was a rough one. "You mean, my own? What a morbid thing to ask."

"You don't have to answer," Wonsik felt compelled to say.

"Yes," Hakyeon said again, a single, sure sound. "Another trade hazard—there's only so many times one can steal, before they have their life stolen from them. Ah, that's what you were wondering isn't it? That makes your question a little less abrupt. And you?"

"I..." Wonsik hadn't been expecting to have to answer a question he hadn't expected to ask. An expression twisted at his lips, somewhere between deprecation and mirth and wry irony.

"You don't have to answer," Hakyeon said, and it was filled with gentle meaning, even had Hakyeon's hand on Wonsik's arm not. Wonsik had not noticed Hakyeon move so near.

"Not my own," Wonsik said. And then, because the rain had yet to stop: "be careful of Taekwoon. Please."

"Mm, you did say he rather wanted to catch me," Hakyeon said. He gently pried his hand away from Wonsik, who'd gripped it unconsciously as he'd spoken. A careful step was taken, placing them a careful distance apart.

"What did you call your thief once, the one you couldn't catch—a gentleman thief?" Hakyeon laughed softly, eyes closing as if in memory. "There was one they called that; they caught him in the end when he tried to kill a tyrant. They boiled him alive, him and his infant son—isn't it strange? To have stolen so many things, only to have their most important things stolen from them. I guess that's fate too."

The fresh smell of rain surrounded Hakyeon's words, enveloping them, capturing them, surrounding the two men standing at the edge of the pavilion and draping those words around them both. 

"Ah, well, it's good we live in a more civilised kingdom—hanging and beheading are much cleaner ways of execution, don't you think?" Hakyeon asked, eyes twinkling as he glanced at Wonsik. Wonsik could only furrow his brows, and wonder at the importance of these words. 

"Shall we go back?" Hakyeon's words were an echo of Wonsik's; softer, sweeter. Sadder. Nor did he wait for Wonsik to answer before he walked the few steps to where Fluffy was still sleeping and scooped her into his arms. The dog lifted her head for a few seconds, before she snuffled back into sleep. The wet imprints of her fur immediately dirtied Hakyeon's clothes.

"Here, let me—"

Wonsik had barely reached out for her before Hakyeon spun on his heel, eyes flashing steel.

"Do not treat me like a delicate flower, Wonsik. I may be a dancer, but I am still a man, and I could—" A myriad of emotions flashed across Hakyeon's face as he caught himself, his muscles tensing with the effort of holding himself together, holding himself back. Lines drew severe between his brows, but it was not in anger. Nor was it in anger that Hakyeon's fist clenched, a motion barely seen, hidden behind the cloth of his sleeve. Hakyeon was, Wonsik realised with a burst of misplaced hilarity, still wearing Wonsik's jacket draped over his shoulders, and he was reminded now, for the way they fell over Hakyeon's arms as he bowed, as best as one could bow with a dog in their arms. "I... My Lord, your most humble servant has spoken grievously wrong, and asks to be punished for it."

"Don't," Wonsik said. He touched Hakyeon's shoulder, and slowly eased him upright when Hakyeon didn't straighten. Hakyeon wouldn't meet his eyes, and Wonsik wanted to pull Hakyeon to him—but had Hakyeon not just said.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," Hakyeon said. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort. A motion to dispel his own words from moments earlier, the apology offered in the safest way any of them knew how. 

"You haven't been sleeping well," Wonsik said.

"I haven't?" Hakyeon turned to Wonsik with a quizzically arched brow, and Wonsik rubbed at his neck.

"Yeah," Wonsik said. "Just sometimes."

"Mm, I must've woken you too. Well, if you want to carry this wet lump of fur, she's all yours." Hakyeon grinned, teeth white and smile cheeky, holding Fluffy out for Wonsik to take. Wonsik half-groaned half-laughed as he collected her into his arms.

"Careful, she's wet," Hakyeon said, smiling sweetly.

"Yes, I can tell," Wonsik said.

Hakyeon laughed as he walked beside Wonsik, his hands first clasped behind his back, and then tucked into his sleeves. Wonsik had his arms full of wet dog, and a good thing too, because there was something irresistible about Hakyeon in moments like these, when his smile seemed to be only a smile.

"I'll stay for a bit," Wonsik said.

They were nearing the doors of Jaehwan's residence. The rain, while they had walked, had not petered to a stop. It fell steadily, but the sky was still light overhead. Hakyeon stopped at Wonsik's words; he'd been a step ahead the entire way and now he fell a step behind, when Wonsik stopped a step too late.

"Just to dry off and stuff," Wonsik quickly said. "I'll go right after if you want me—"

"You're an idiot," Hakyeon informed him flatly.

"Am I?" Wonsik asked. Fluffy was restless, and Wonsik let her jump out of his arms, taking firm hold of her leash. It would not be the first time that either him or Hakyeon were reduced to dog catchers, although such activities were usually limited to within the walls of Jaehwan's residence. Wonsik didn't fancy embarrassing himself out in the palace proper.

"Yes," Hakyeon said, pushing his way through the doors, Wonsik following, Fluffy bounding ahead. Perhaps it was because it was a fox bride's rain, or simply the Heavens feeling capracious—in a moment, they were surrounded by the thunder of pounding rain. Hakyeon laughed, grabbing the leash out of Wonsik's hand and chasing after the dog, amazingly improper as he dashed for his rooms, water drenching him through and through, his hair falling behind him as he ran.

Wonsik was caught in the water sliding off of Hakyeon's skin, his eyes sparkling as he glanced back at Wonsik—"hurry up!"—the wet strands of his hair loose by his ears, before he came to his senses, sprinting after them both.

He was laughing as well as he shut the door behind them, spilling in just as a round of thunder sounded. Fluffy yelped, midway through shaking herself dry. 

"Yes," Hakyeon said, grabbing Wonsik, eyes shining and smile wide. "You're an idiot, and I love you for it."

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

There were many ways in which one could die, but there was something cruel about murder that Wonsik could never forgive. He and Taekwoon stepped briskly from the scene, where a couple lay dead. At least eighteen hours dead but not more than a day, had been Taekwoon's judgement. It was not the most gruesome case that Wonsik had seen—far from it. But there had been a lot of blood.

Wonsik strode through the hall and down the stairs, Taekwoon a silent spectre by his shoulder. He unnerved people even more now, with the scar. It amused Taekwoon to no end; it exasperated Wonsik to no end. The guards at the bottom of the stairs saluted them as they passed, and Wonsik nodded brusquely at them as they left. 

"Where's the suspect?" Taekwoon asked Wonsik as they walked through the inn. The entire building had been cleared of patrons; the inn-keep stood in a corner, nervously wringing his hands.

"Out back," Wonsik said. He waved the inn-keep over, the man rushing over so fast he was liable to trip, bowing even before he was in a proper distance.

"Sirs, please tell me how I can be of assistance," he said.

"Take us to the suspect," Wonsik said.

"Yes, yes, of course," the inn-keep said, with a nervous glance at them both. Wonsik towered over the man by almost half a head; he didn't blame him.

"You're the one who found him, correct?" Wonsik asked as they walked. It was colder outside, brisk and chilly. Winter would truly be upon them soon. Wonsik tucked his hands a little further into his sleeves.

The man immediately bowed. "Yes, Young Master, he was...he was covered in blood. Top of the stairs. Just after closing, I thought it might have been a thief—I immediately shouted for the guards."

"Three hours? Four hours ago?" Wonsik asked. He gestured for the inn-keep to continue walking.

"Five," the inn-keep said. "He was covered in blood, Young Master, covered in blood."

"Yes, you said that," Taekwoon said quietly. The poor inn-keep looked liable to jump out of his skin at Taekwoon's words. Wonsik shot Taekwoon a cross look, which Taekwoon acknowledged by keeping his expression perfectly blank.

"At least a half day's gap," Wonsik said, pulling Taekwoon's attention back.

"Mm."

They had rounded the back of the inn, and walked towards a storage shed, guarded by two men. 

"Halt! The Prince has ordered that no one is to pass," one of them said, blocking Wonsik's path.

"I'm sure the Prince would not mind you allowing us to pass," Wonsik said, staring at them both in turn. He drew himself up haughtily, hands clasped behind his back.

The one on the right seemed to have a quicker mind; he bowed, eyes wide in fear. "My Lord, please go right ahead, your servant was foolish—please don't inform the Prince of this lapse."

"Very well, I won't tell Prince Jaehwan of this," Wonsik said, aware of Taekwoon's eyes boring into the other man who clearly hadn't grasped the situation yet. The inn-keep was somewhere behind them, presumably wringing his hands again. It was a habit he couldn't seem to break.

"But—"

"Fool, this is Master Kim Wonsik," the smarter soldier hissed. "He's personally appointed by the Prince to assist in cases."

Wonsik decided not to point out that there was no 'appointing' involved, opting to sweep past them both, unbolting the door. Taekwoon followed, giving the hapless soldiers extremely unimpressed looks; Wonsik was already dreading Taekwoon's inevitable giggling once they were in private.

The suspect, as the inn-keep had said, was covered in blood. He was bound well, thick ropes crossing over his chest and locking his arms behind him. A young man, barely older than a child—he looked up at their entrance, meeting Wonsik's eyes unflinchingly as Taekwoon shut the door behind them. It was dark inside the windowless shed, and would have been pitch black except for the lamp that Taekwoon held. He must have gotten it from one of the guards before following Wonsik in.

If Wonsik had to blink to adjust his eyes, he imagined that the suspect, eyes open and unblinking as they were, could see little but starbursts.

For half a second, dread tightened in Wonsik's gut as he took in the suspect more closely; for half a second, Wonsik saw Hakyeon there, covered in blood, looking up at Wonsik and meeting his eyes unflinchingly, thick ropes binding his arms behind his back. Half a second, before the image disappeared, although Wonsik couldn't help but notice that his eyes looked like Hakyeon's. The thought stuck at Wonsik like a burr, the image remaining unsettling in his chest. It was hard to have those eyes fixed on him.

He certainly looked guilty. Nor was he protesting his innocence. He'd tried to flee but he'd been subdued by the guards. Wonsik could faintly see a gash of blood against his neck where a blade must have been held hard against skin.

"You waited hours to leave," Wonsik said without preamble. "Why?"

The suspect only raised an eyebrow. Wonsik's eyes hardened. 

"Let me tell you what I think," Wonsik said. Now was when Taekwoon's whole silent, scary staring thing tended to come into handy, but this boy only glanced at Taekwoon before turning back to Wonsik. It didn't seem like Taekwoon's natural demeanour would be of much assistance this time.

"Yeah?" His voice could almost be called boyish.

"You can tell me if I'm right or not. The inn-keep testified that the couple and their son was staying in the room—you have no injury that could produce that amount of blood, and the position of the husband's body indicates that not all of the blood is his. The window was open, and blood was found on it." Wonsik was watching the suspect carefully for any reaction, but there was none, his expression having not changed. "You came in through the window and surprised the three of them, immediately killing the wife. The two men stood, knocking over the table, hence spilling the tea and shattering the cups. While you wounded the son, the father attacked you, giving the son enough time to escape. You killed the father. You didn't chase after the son, because he wasn't someone you needed to kill—but since your fight had caused noise, you didn't dare to leave for fear of being caught, and so waited through the day to leave, as soon as the inn closed again."

"Yeah, that's right," the suspect said, mouth twisting in a smirk. The playfulness was gone.

Taekwoon snorted. "That's too long to wait for someone like you," he said. The suspect turned his attention to Taekwoon, blinking once, saying nothing.

"It is," Wonsik said brusquely. "No. You had an accomplice. One of you chased after the son—you."

It was Taekwoon who stepped forward, tapping Wonsik on the shoulder, a slight crease of his brows.

"There were three sets of footsteps behind the building," Wonsik murmured to Taekwoon. "I noticed when we were coming here. Two leaving and one coming back."

The suspect abruptly laughed, leaning back a little more comfortably against the wall. "Accomplice? No, there's only me. You're almost right—I did go after that bastard but failed. I came back because I needed proof I'd killed them, but then the inn-keep awoke and I couldn't leave."

"Proof?" Taekwoon asked.

"That's right, proof," the boy said. "Didn't you hear me the first time?"

Taekwoon took a threatening step forward, but the boy didn't flinch. Wonsik placed a hand on Taekwoon's arm.

"Who are you?" Wonsik asked.

The boy shrugged, his head tilting almost mockingly, matched by one corner of his lips tugging upwards. "Sungjae, at your service. My Lord."

"Who paid you?" Wonsik reworded his question, filing away the name. He didn't believe him—there had to be a second killer.

"Now why would you think that?" Sungjae asked, his voice sweetly innocent. "Can't I kill someone just for the fun of it?"

"Of course you can," Wonsik said. "But you didn't."

He turned on his heel, gesturing for Taekwoon to follow him. In a few seconds, the shed behind them was plunged again into darkness, and Wonsik squinted in the early daylight sun.

"What do you think?" he asked Taekwoon, once they'd handed the lamp back and left the guard with explicit instructions that no one but him and Taekwoon, or the Prince himself, were to speak to the suspect. They would wait to transfer him to the jail until tomorrow. 

"Third murder of performers in two months," Taekwoon noted. "Three different troupes."

"Former performers," Wonsik noted. "Except for the son."

"Yes," Taekwoon agreed. He yawned, barely covering his mouth in time to be proper, and Wonsik couldn't help but echoing him. It was far too early again, and they'd had a hard ride here, leaving as soon as they'd received the message from Jaehwan. Appointed, indeed. Favour for a friend was more accurate. Jaehwan owed them both a good dinner after this. Wonsik might not have been paid by the court, but that didn't mean they weren't shown appreciation—and imperial favour was valuable currency in certain other ways as well, if Wonsik was ever inclined to use it.

"None were murdered the same way," Wonsik said. "And we've caught the two previous murderers as well. Motive for one of them was a revenge killing."

"I think you're right about the accomplice," Taekwoon said. "He's protecting someone, he probably wanted to be caught so we won't look for him."

"Yeah, that's how it would usually be. Once you've got a suspect who's confessed, no one's going to bother looking for another," Wonsik said.

Taekwoon nodded. They'd made their way back to the front of the inn, and stood there for a moment looking at it.

"I'll look for the son," Taekwoon said.

"I'll take another look at the scene," Wonsik said. If there was a second suspect—and Wonsik was sure there was—time was of the essence. Taekwoon searching for the third victim was the sensible choice; he'd been no doubt wounded, and Taekwoon would know what to do. Wonsik wouldn't have a clue.

Taekwoon nodded once, briskly.

"You two," Wonsik said, gesturing to the two guards at the front of the inn. "Go with him."

"I don't need anyone," Taekwoon hissed at Wonsik under his breath.

"You might need to carry him back if you find him," Wonsik pointed out. "Some extra manpower won't hurt. Just pretend they're not there if you need to."

Taekwoon glowered, pressing his lips into a thin line but didn't protest further, simply stalked off without waiting for the two guards to follow. Wonsik gestured for them to hurry after him.

As for Wonsik himself, he returned to the room wherein two dead bodies still lay.

He wrinkled his nose involuntarily, covering his face with his sleeve, assaulted with the smell of blood and death a day old. The bodies hadn't yet begun to spoil, like they would have at the height of summer, but death aged no matter the weather. The scene hadn't been touched—good.

The window was still open, the chill from outside spilling into the room, and Wonsik walked over to it. He crouched down, swiping his finger along a dark splotch on the floor—dried, but no doubt blood. There was little blood on the sill, nor, when he looked down out the window, much on the ground. He could just see the shed from here—lines formed between his brows as he thought to the suspect imprisoned within.

There was no doubt he was only a paid killer. He'd said as much, that he'd come back for proof. Wonsik didn't believe that—or at least, that it was the whole reason, but he believed that they'd required proof. Who was the second accomplice? Was he the true murderer? Where was the son?

Wonsik looked back to the rest of the room. The low table had been righted, but smudges of blood were still visible. When they had entered, it had been lying on top of the body of the wife. She'd been killed cleanly with a slashed throat, her eyes still wide in death. Taekwoon had closed them, but there was little that could be done to disguise the blood that had gushed from the wound and was now pooled beneath her head. About forty, fifty, past the prime of her life but one could still glimpse what must have been a beautiful youth. The husband was slumped against the bed—he hadn't gone to death's gate so quietly. Wonsik paced about the table—the three of them had been discussing something, the wife where she now lay, the son next to her, and the husband across from his wife. The point of entry—the point of entry had to have been the door. Odd. One of them would have immediately killed the woman, while the other would have gone for one of the men. Which wasn't important. They'd jumped to their feet, upsetting the table, causing it to flip on top of the wife, already dead. From the way the cups had shattered, the son must have stood first—and there, crushed into finer pieces. Wonsik crouched down, brushing his finger against the powder fine remains of ceramic. A heel, stumbling backwards, sending the shattered pieces flying forwards. The husband had been armed, the knife discarded about an arms span from his body—Sungjae hadn't had any obvious knife injuries. Wonsik traced one of the splatters to the far wall—not from the victim, it must've been from the killer. Sungjae had to have chased down the son. He hadn't been lying on that count.

But the question was still, why? Wonsik straightened, pulling his fan from his belt and tapping it against his palm as he thought.

There wasn't much luggage in the room—they'd been travelling lightly. Quickly. Fleeing, perhaps. They'd been killed to be silenced? He'd have to inquire more deeply about their past. He felt he had a fairly good grasp on the sequence of events, at the least. The killer had to have been badly wounded for the blood to have splattered onto the wall. Then, the blood on the sill may have belonged to the killer, fleeing. Perhaps the son had not been wounded after all? No, there was blood on the floor near where the son must have been sitting. 

Wonsik sighed to himself, tracing and retracing the paths the two attackers must have taken. When he'd first begun, he'd found it unnerving to be in a room with dead bodies—now, it was difficult to faze him even when the victim had been decapitated. He was no soldier, but he had seen his fair share of death.

What was it that Hakyeon had said— _it is not only soldiers who think of death._ Death came in many forms, but for most, life was enough of a burden that it was difficult to spare a thought for that which came after it. 

Hakyeon. The image from the dark shed flashed in Wonsik's mind's eye again and he shuddered at the way the false Hakyeon's eyes bored into his, calm and unbothered. If they had caught him, would that have been what Hakyeon would have looked like? Bound with his arms behind his back, kneeling in front of them, resigned to death? _Hanging and beheading are much cleaner methods of execution_ , Hakyeon had also said. Wonsik swallowed, fingers digging into his palms. He could never imagine being able to face the prospect of death so calmly. Yet even with the certainty of his lot had he been caught, Hakyeon had continued to steal, and more brazenly, he had not only placed himself within Jaehwan's power, but had revealed himself to Wonsik. He hadn't needed to do the last. 

Wonsik sighed again, dragging a hand across his face. Now was not the time to think of Hakyeon. He grimaced, glancing around himself again for anything he might've missed—a flash of reflection in the corner of the room. He hurried over, pushing aside the candle that had fallen in the scuffle. Shattered pieces of a jade amulet lay there, and Wonsik swept them into his hand. They fit into a small disc, unevenly shaped, about the size of half his palm, instead of the typical curved shape like the one that hung at his own waist. Some sort of plant was crudely carved into its surface, although it was hard to tell what it was with part of it missing. Perhaps the part where a cord had been threaded through. Perhaps it belonged to Sungjae or the missing killer. 

Wonsik tucked it away and stood, walking to the far end of the room, righting a chair to sit on as he did so. It was as good a place as any to observe the scene, figure if there was anything he missed.

He was still sitting there when Taekwoon returned.

"You found him," Wonsik said, hurrying down the stairs. The third victim was lying on a makeshift bed on the floor of the inn. He'd been wounded badly, perhaps the blood on the suspect was his, and was unconscious—even Wonsik could tell it didn't look good. "When will he wake?"

Taekwoon only shook his head, letting go of the young man's wrist and standing up from where he'd been crouched down next to him, reading his pulse. "He won't live," Taekwoon said. There was blood on Taekwoon's hands and on his sleeves. Taekwoon tucked his hands away, suddenly conscious of Wonsik's glance. He'd tried, but not every life could be saved.

"I see," Wonsik said slowly. "I suppose our suspect will not have failed after all."

"It was better to let him die here than in a dirty alley," Taekwoon said, looking down at the young man, his breathing fast and shallow. He didn't look much older than his killer. He resembled his mother. Taekwoon caught his lower lip between his teeth, and then shook his head again.

"Two dead soldiers found this morning as well. They died around the same time, maybe a little later," Taekwoon added.

"Our real killer," Wonsik said. "I have no doubt now—there's two of them."

"What else?" Taekwoon asked. Wonsik was leading them out into the mid-day air; it would be good to speak to the suspect again.

"The missing killer is the one who killed both husband and wife. He was wounded badly by the husband, and likely escaped with whatever 'proof' the suspect spoke of. I want to ask him about that as well. My conjecture is that they were killed to silence them. As to who or what, I don't know yet," Wonsik said.

"Mm." Taekwoon nodded, lip caught between his teeth again, this time in thought. It made for a bit less menacing of a picture, which Wonsik had no doubt the two guards by the door of the shed appreciated. Wonsik nodded as they unbolted the door and held it open. 

The moment he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong—but it was Taekwoon who jumped to action.

"More light," Taekwoon ordered the guards, hurrying forward towards the suspect. When neither of them moved, Taekwoon snarled over his shoulder. "Now!"

There couldn't have been a greater difference between the Sungjae who'd greeted them—calm, composed, almost cocky—with the boy now curled up on the ground, breathing shallow, face contorted in pain.

"Poison," Taekwoon said, fingers against the side of the boy's neck. Wonsik crouched down next to him, noted the way he was trembling, jerking within his bonds.

"But how—no one's been in or out, could he be faking?" The guard that remained walked closer with the light.

"No," Taekwoon murmured to himself, tilting the boy's chin up and feeling under his jaw. The boy cried out in pain. "It's poison. I know it. I know this one."

"You can't... you can't do anything," Sungjae gasped, words barely audible. He forced his eyes open, met Taekwoon's gaze. His chest was heaving, and there was sweat beading along the sides of his face.

"How long," Taekwoon demanded. "A week? Has it been a week?"

Sungjae's eyes closed, squeezed shut. He was labouring for breath, and Wonsik's heart hurt. It wasn't right—he was a murderer, yet Wonsik felt pity for him. But Wonsik was also out of his depth here, and Taekwoon's abrupt change in demeanour reflected that—this was in his hands now.

"Someone untie him," Taekwoon said.

"But, sir, he could—"

"Does it look like he'll run? _Untie him_ —" Taekwoon bit off his own words, clamping his teeth about his lip as he fumbled out of his jacket, sliding it under Sungjae's head. It was but a second's work; unsheathing his own sword, steel flashing, and then the boy's bonds were free. A deep breath of relief seemed to run through him, his arms falling limply loose at his sides, as he slumped down onto his back, his breathing coming a little easier. 

More guards had arrived, with more lamps. Taekwoon glanced over his shoulder at their return. "Water," he said. "A cup, and a clean cloth."

"Do as he says." Wonsik stood, steeling his words, eyes boring into the nearest soldier.

"Yes, Master Wonsik!" he said, saluting and then immediately running off.

"How long?" Taekwoon asked again. He grabbed Sungjae's wrist and pressed his fingers against it to read his pulse. "Has it been a week?"

Sungjae shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak and swallowed, but it only sent a new spasm of pain through his body.

"Water," Taekwoon muttered. "Where's the water?"

"Taekwoon, calm down," Wonsik said. He touched Taekwoon's shoulder lightly—he shouldn't have been, but it surprised Wonsik how stiff Taekwoon was.

"No," Sungjae said, choking out the one word. "Nine... Nine days."

"He has a day to live," Taekwoon said to Wonsik. "It's always a week, exactly ten days. I know this one."

"Then... Then you know... there's, ahh... haa... nothing..." Sungjae forced his words out between ragged breaths, eyes still shut. 

Wonsik saw Taekwoon swallow, and then abruptly stand.

"Taekwoon?"

"Water," was all Taekwoon said. He stalked towards the door, but was stopped, as the soldier who'd taken off running returned with a flask of water, a cup, and a clean cloth.

Taekwoon's face seemed to melt with relief as he snatched them from his hands, with a barely muttered thank you. Wonsik watched as Taekwoon brushed sweat soaked bangs away from the boy's eyes, before filling the cup with water. He was tender and gentle when he dipped the cloth into the water, holding it to Sungjae's lips as he lifted Sungjae partway up. Something twisted in Wonsik's heart as Sungjae sucked at the cloth, almost unconsciously. There was still blood on his clothes, splattered against his neck, and now Wonsik could see the blood on his hands, his wrists as well. And yet, Wonsik could not stop the ache of pity.

"I need you to tell me how it tasted," Taekwoon said. He soaked the cloth through again, letting Sungjae drink from it. "Sweet? Bitter?"

"Like candy," Sungjae said, words carried on a desperate exhale.

"Taekwoon?"

"I can do it," Taekwoon murmured. He held the cup up to Sungjae's lips this time. "I can at least try."

Sungjae suddenly gripped at Taekwoon's wrist, his eyes wide. "Antidote?" he asked. "There's... haa... "

"Yes," Taekwoon said, watching Sungjae as he drank, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "You knew you would die."

Sungjae didn't respond to that, although his lips did flicker in some movement.

"I need a clean flask, bottle," Taekwoon said to Wonsik, distracted. "I need to go back."

The guard didn't wait for Wonsik to convey Taekwoon's order before he saluted and bolted off. Wonsik noted his face, reminded himself to commend him later. 

"But what if... while you're gone..." Wonsik frowned, but Taekwoon quickly shook his head.

"No, it's always a week. Never more, never less," Taekwoon said. He glanced down at Sungjae who seemed to be breathing a little easier now, his face less tense. "Give him water. If the fever comes on, cool it. He won't die from it, but..." Taekwoon swallowed and shook his head, to himself. "Let him suffer less."

"Alright," Wonsik said. The sound of quick footsteps alerted them to the guard, who rushed forward and handed them directly to Taekwoon. Taekwoon nodded a thanks, and then unsheathed his short sword again.

"Hold his arm out," Taekwoon instructed Wonsik.

"What are you going to do?" Wonsik asked, but he obeyed anyway. The boy's skin was alarmingly clammy and cold, far beyond what the morning might have brought, even if they were on the cusp between autumn and winter. It had not grown so cold yet.

"I need to be sure," Taekwoon said. He pushed the boy's sleeve up to his elbow. There was a sharp gasp of pain, fists tightening, when Taekwoon cut the boy's arm, holding the flask under it to collect the blood, dripping viscously down the sides and disappearing into the darkness. It was almost a tea cup, if not more, that Taekwoon took, before he nodded at Wonsik.

"Give me your handkerchief," Taekwoon said. Wonsik wordlessly obeyed, only watching as Taekwoon tied it over the cut he'd just inflicted. This time, the blood was Sungjae's own blood.

That done, Taekwoon stood.

"Give me five hours," he told Wonsik—and bolted out the door for their horses.

"Taekwoon!" Wonsik yelled after his friend, but Taekwoon didn't turn, and moments later, he was thundering down the road on his mount.

Wonsik dragged a hand across his face, the past few minutes slamming into him like the horse now galloping away.

"You may all leave," he told the guards.

"Understood," they answered at once, clearing the shed so it was only Wonsik and Sungjae, although they'd left the lanterns inside the shed. It was echoingly empty after the few minutes commotion.

"Now I have even more questions," Wonsik said, the words mostly to himself. Sungjae blinked, turning his head towards Wonsik.

"You want water?" Wonsik asked. Sungjae nodded, however small a motion it was. Mimicking Taekwoon, Wonsik helped Sungjae sit up and to drink, although far more awkwardly.

"Ten day poison," Wonsik said, as he let Sungjae back down, head still pillowed on Taekwoon's jacket. "You knew you would die. Your accomplice—was he poisoned the same way?"

"There... only me," Sungjae said. His eyes didn't open this time.

"Then this is yours?" Wonsik pulled out one of the pieces of the jade amulet—Sungjae's eyes barely cracked open at Wonsik's words, but they opened wide when they saw what Wonsik held.

There was no clearer answer than the way Sungjae clearly ached to reach for it, but he seemed unable to move, his hand twitching, his arm rising the barest before falling back down. So young. He looked so young.

Wonsik placed one of the pieces in Sungjae's hand. The boy immediately closed his fingers about it, clutched it in his fist. Yes, there was a second. A friend, a very close friend. Poisoned the same way. Ensure their return, or they'd die—painfully. Was it brave or foolish for this one to have remained? Or was it because there was something worse awaiting him due to his failure? Perhaps this had nothing to do with the other two deaths then—what was it that the victims had known that had warranted their deaths?

He doubted he would have been able to learn this from the boy in front of him, even had he not been in the state he was in right now. Wonsik exhaled heavily, abruptly aware of the improper state he was in, sitting on the floor in the manner he was. It didn't seem right to leave the boy again in the darkness—if Taekwoon was here, he would have sat by his side until he either recovered, or otherwise. Wonsik had wondered once, which Taekwoon would prioritise more: a criminal, or a human life. In a way, Wonsik supposed the answer was in front of him. Yet Taekwoon had no qualms about ending a life in abrupt execution—he'd made that much clear with Hakyeon, other cases as well. It wasn't that Taekwoon was cruel. He might scream and flee from bugs, but Wonsik had never seen him kill one. It was impossible to miss the way his face softened into a smile when he met any animal, even the horse he rode daily, and the way he tended to his patients with unending patience and determination, whether or not they had the money to pay.

But criminals. Criminals had always been a different matter in Taekwoon's mind. Wonsik sometimes wondered what it would be like to think the way Taekwoon did in such things, that there was a right and a wrong, that the law was to be followed and never questioned. 

Sungjae cried out beside him, and Wonsik hesitated. Should he comfort him, offer him water?

"Ah?" Wonsik uttered instead.

"It hurts... It hurts," Sungjae whimpered, and what had he done in a past life that led him to such suffering in this one? His life was in Taekwoon's hands now. If Taekwoon could do nothing, then he would die as he had been sure he would die.

What irony—even if Taekwoon saved his life here, he may very well be killed in a matter of days when his case was ruled on. Or perhaps he'd be merely beaten and then enslaved. If he lived, Wonsik would ask for that. His hand had been forced, even if he had killed without remorse.

And what of the second? Wonsik ought to be searching for him right now, but Taekwoon had always been the better tracker of the two. His childhood lessons of hunting and snaring animals far outweighed Wonsik's much softer one of books and learning.

_Do you ever think of death?_ he had asked Hakyeon.

There would be nothing Wonsik could argue for, if Hakyeon were ever to be discovered. At least, he thought wryly, they weren't of the habit of boiling people to death.

Wonsik had never thought of his own death, it was true. It was often the case that it was death he was faced with when Jaehwan sent him a summons—perhaps that was why he had ceased to think of it. Or perhaps it was simply easier to wipe it from his mind.

He touched a hand to the boy's head—he'd been frighteningly cold earlier, he was beyond warm now. Wonsik got to his feet, his nerves protesting as blood rushed through protesting veins.

"Master Wonsik?"

"Stand down," Wonsik said, gesturing at the guards flanking the door. "I will return shortly."

"Understood," they said in unison.

Well trained, if nothing else.

The cold towel which Wonsik returned with seemed to give the boy some relief. Not much, but some.

Hakyeon often spoke of fate—he'd said that it was a fitting name for a thief. Fates and fortunes. Yes, there were times too when one said that it was fortune that something had gone missing. For a brief moment, Wonsik wondered if it was fortune too when someone had gone missing. If it was fortune when someone was lost.

He'd been thinking too much of Hakyeon of late, when his mind should have been focussed on the case on hand. It wasn't right, yet Wonsik found his thoughts wandering towards him at the oddest of times. He hadn't seen Hakyeon in almost a week—he'd visit him tonight, or tomorrow night at the latest. The need to see him ached within Wonsik with a physicality he hadn't thought was possible for something like this—yet, he faintly recalled the stabbing pains of heartbreak, of grief, of loss.

Perhaps that was why murder was cruel. It created pain when there needed to be none.

Wonsik must have dozed off, sitting in that shed with the light pouring in through the open door, the yellow glow from the lanterns situated about them. He jerked awake to the sound of Taekwoon reining in his horse, hooves pounding against the dirt ground.

"You're back!" Wonsik scrambled to his feet, blood rushing from his head.

"Hold him," Taekwoon told Wonsik. He rushed forward, without even bothering to hand the reins off to one of the guards. There was a small stoppered bottle in his hand.

Wonsik did as he asked, the wet towel sliding off as he held Sungjae upright enough for Taekwoon to open the bottle and hold it to Sungjae's lips. Taekwoon tossed away the towel with impatience.

"Drink," Taekwoon urged the boy, his voice soft. "You need to drink."

"It hurts," Sungjae whimpered, turning his head away. Wonsik recognised it; he was no longer conscious of anything but the pain and the fever. He'd forgotten about the poison, about the antidote—but he still clutched at the fragment of jade.

"Drink," Taekwoon said again, switching the bottle to his left hand so he could tilt the boy's head back with a finger against his jaw, forcing his mouth open. Sungjae cried out in pain, and it was difficult for Wonsik's heart not to hurt at this image, even knowing that he was a killer and a murderer. He spluttered when Taekwoon poured some into his mouth and tried to turn his head away again, but Taekwoon's grasp on his jaw was firm.

Wonsik swallowed, and then leaned past Taekwoon to touch the boy's hand. "Drink for his sake," Wonsik said gruffly.

Taekwoon looked at Wonsik, his brows furrowing slightly, but Wonsik only shook his head—there would be time to explain later.

It was as if Wonsik's words had parted the cloud in the boy's mind just enough for a single ray of sun to pierce through. He didn't resist when Taekwoon tipped the liquid into his mouth, although he still cried out when he swallowed. Taekwoon didn't stop until he'd drank the entire bottle, and then moved Wonsik out of the way so he could hold the boy up himself.

"Will he live?" Wonsik asked.

"Perhaps," Taekwoon said—his voice was soft again, light, his usual voice, only with far more uncertainty. He held him there a moment longer before he lay him back down, still pillowed on Taekwoon's jacket. Taekwoon stood and Wonsik followed him out of the shed. To Wonsik's surprise, Taekwoon closed the door after them.

"Let him rest," Taekwoon said.

It was late afternoon now, and Wonsik had to blink at the sun. A small shiver ran through Taekwoon's body; it had grown too cold to be comfortable without a jacket. Wonsik briefly wondered if the boy's was warm enough.

"Let's go inside," Wonsik said, lightly touching Taekwoon's arm. Taekwoon nodded and followed quietly, something having drained out of him. "You should rest too."

Taekwoon shook his head. "It's a cruel poison," he said. "Whoever gave it to him, they're the true culprit. We need to find them."

"You can rest first," Wonsik said firmly. He waved the inn-keep over, ordering him to bring hot tea and food—still hovering in a corner, even though it had been hours. Wonsik didn't envy the man. He would see a decline in business for a long while. A death on the premises did that.

At least, Taekwoon didn't resist when Wonsik steered him to one of the tables.

"Moonlight fire," Taekwoon said, after they'd been sitting for a while. The tea had already arrived, although Taekwoon had only played with the rim of his cup, hadn't yet drank. "By tomorrow, the lumps under his jaw would have swelled enough to choke him. It burns the skin, slows the blood. It's said to eat you from the inside like acid. It was sometimes used in executions in older barbaric times. It always causes death in a week, but there were closely guarded ways to counter it before symptoms show—criminals would give up their accomplices, when faced with such a cruel death. But it was so cruel, they stopped."

"And after the symptoms show?" 

Taekwoon hesitated, swallowing. "There are old texts, it's a very old poison," Taekwoon said, his words running into each other. "I've never treated it myself. I've never seen it myself. I don't know how many people know it exists." He paused, looked down, tilted his cup until the tea threatened to spill onto the table. "It was enough to give them a merciful death."

"Fate," Wonsik murmured. Taekwoon's eyes flashed steel for a moment, and Wonsik shook his head. "That it was you, I mean."

Taekwoon stood abruptly. "I'll go see him. If it worked, it'll show."

"I'll come—"

"No," Taekwoon said, and it was firm enough, even without raising his voice, that Wonsik sat back down.

Wonsik would give this to him. There were some things Taekwoon needed to do for himself.

There were moments in a man's life when something of importance has occurred, but the consequences would take months, years, to show themselves. This, Wonsik was not to know until much later, was one of those times. By then, he may have forgotten the moment, for there are moments that will take its place in importance, and this moment will fade from his mind to simply become another memory.

Whether this was the work of fate, was something only the Heavens could know.

He would, Taekwoon told him, live. He was asleep now. Taekwoon had paused then. They could question him in the morning.

Taekwoon retreated to a room, and Wonsik remained downstairs for some time, speaking to the inn-keep, to the soldiers. He walked to where the third victim had been found, and then to where the two dead soldiers had been found, and when he returned to the inn, death had claimed the third victim, and so the entire family now lay dead under the same roof, having met violent ends for the sake of something Wonsik swore he would learn, but he would never learn. 

For in the morning, even before Taekwoon and Wonsik had properly awoken, two riders had thundered up to the inn, and one of them was the Eleventh Prince, with orders that this case would be no further investigated.

"What do you mean, not investigated?" Wonsik asked. "Why?"

"I don't know," Jaehwan said. He glanced sharply at Taekwoon. "I mean it. No more investigation."

"No," Taekwoon said. "This case is bigger than this." He gestured towards the shed they were now walking to. 

"Did you not hear me? I said no more," Jaehwan snapped. "If I find out you've disobeyed me, I'm revoking all your privileges, and never allowing you near a crime scene again."

"You wouldn't," Taekwoon said placidly, but there was a hitch before his words that betrayed his calm.

"Alright Jaehwan," Wonsik said, cutting in. "We won't. But I don't like it either."

"Neither do I," Jaehwan said, much softer. He glanced behind him, at where an official investigator was speaking to the inn-keep. Poor man. "But no point getting into trouble for it."

"There's a second killer," Wonsik told Jaehwan.

"Doesn't matter. We have a culprit," Jaehwan said. He nodded to the two soldiers who were guarding the door to the shed, who immediately bowed at his approach.

"Your Highness, Prince!" 

"Open the door," Jaehwan ordered.

"Yes, your Highness!"

If it had been clear that something had been wrong the previous day as soon as they had stepped in, it was clear that something was wrong the moment the door was opened, the unmistakable smell of blood assaulting them.

"Shit," Wonsik swore, pushing past Jaehwan. He crouched down next to Sungjae, knowing from the blood and the stillness even before he felt for his pulse. "Shit, _fuck_ , he's dead."

"No," Taekwoon said, that one word barely audible. "Why?"

Taekwoon stared down at him, his eyes almost blank. Wonsik only spared a glance at Taekwoon, unable to look at his eyes for any longer than that. His throat was slit, a bloodied knife in his limp hand. He was slumped against the wall. His eyes were half shut, unseeing. Wonsik closed them the rest of the way. 

"We should never have untied him!" one of the guards cried, having run in and seen the knife in the boy's hand. "Your Highness, it wasn't us, it was him!"

He pointed to Taekwoon, and Taekwoon didn't even react, his eyes still fixed on the dead body in front of them. 

"Are you a fucking idiot? Does this look like he killed himself? Someone killed him," Jaehwan roared, spinning on his heel. "Who did you let in? Did you leave your post?"

"I... I..." Both of the guards shifted unevenly.

"The door was bolted, Your Highness," one of them finally ventured. "We took turns, to sleep."

"Fucking idiots," Jaehwan swore again, and Wonsik couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Jaehwan so livid. 

"So that's it," Wonsik said softly, staring at the boy's face. His eyes didn't look so much like Hakyeon's when they were closed. How quickly a person could disappear. "The culprit is dead. The case is closed. Isn't it?" He glanced up at Jaehwan as he said this, and the Prince nodded, lips pressed tight. "No one who could talk can talk."

"Let's go," Jaehwan said. He grabbed Taekwoon's arm and stalked out, dragging a silent Taekwoon out with him into the morning air.

Wonsik lingered a moment longer, his eyes falling on the boy's fist, still clenched closed. Wonsik gently pried his fingers open, his skin already cold. The piece of jade was still in his palm. Wonsik hesitated a moment, before he took it, and tucked it into the boy's shirt, against his chest. He still had the other pieces—it seemed right that he should be buried with at least part of the pendant.

It was a subdued group that left the inn for the capital, later that morning. The official investigator was pleased enough—he simply didn't note that the culprit had died as well. Nor did he mention in the paperwork that there had been a second. Taekwoon was quiet, but the faint hint of anger had begun to bubble beneath his skin. Jaehwan kept glancing at him, his eyes drawn together with a frown. Thoughts swirled in Wonsik's mind, the remains of the jade pendant still tucked inside his shirt. Perhaps the boy had been predestined to die here—he'd already accepted that destiny for himself.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The sweet smell of warmed rice wine wafted through Hakyeon's room, mixed with the faint scent of alcohol. Hakyeon's sleeves were rolled up to his elbows as he carried it to the table, sitting down next to Wonsik, Hakyeon's arm brushing purposely against Wonsik's shoulder as he did. It was a touch that sent warmth spreading across Wonsik's skin, and it enveloped him to his bones when Hakyeon wrapped his arms about Wonsik's waist, resting his cheek against him. Without the braziers settled by them, their breaths would have clouded in smoke in front of them.

"Are you sure you don't want me to send for Eunji, ask her to bring something to eat?" Hakyeon asked.

"Yeah, don't trouble her," Wonsik said.

"Kim Wonsik, turning down food? Something really must be wrong," Hakyeon teased. The loss of warmth was abrupt and jarring as Hakyeon released him to pour them both wine, sliding it closer to Wonsik.

"That'd be Taekwoon, not me," Wonsik said, laughing. He put down the jade pieces he'd been playing with in his hand to reach for the cup—it took him several seconds to notice Hakyeon's silence, to notice Hakyeon's gaze sharp on the pale green pieces.

"What's that?" Hakyeon's voice was soft, and Wonsik frowned, handing them to Hakyeon.

"The murder yesterday," Wonsik said. "Picked it up from the scene. Seems like it was a pendant, dunno what's carved on it though."

"Lavender," Hakyeon said, turning the piece of stone in his hand.

"Huh? How can you tell?"

Hakyeon laughed, handing them back to Wonsik. "Call it an artist's intuition," he said, grinning in what ought to have been a smug manner, but the expression in his eyes lay far from it.

Wonsik pieced them together in his palm, mentally adding in the third shard, now tucked against a dead boy's chest. It could be.

"Before it gets cold," Hakyeon said. Wonsik glanced up in time to see Hakyeon nudging the cup of wine closer to him again, and Wonsik smiled, gathering it into his hands. It was hard not to, when Hakyeon was so close like this, when his warmth filled the space between them, late autumn as it was.

"I love you," Wonsik blurted out.

Hakyeon was a mystery, an enigma, and there was so much of Hakyeon that Wonsik did not know. But it didn't matter, not when warmth blossomed in his chest when he thought of Hakyeon, when it bloomed and enveloped him like the gentle heat of a fire in a cold winter blizzard. Hakyeon _was_ a flower, he _was_ a fire, his smile was light itself.

Hakyeon was also, Wonsik knew, a criminal.

A criminal who moved like the wind, who embraced like the sun, and who laughed until his eyes became slivers of the moon, hiding stars behind his lids.

A criminal who'd gathered Wonsik against him, whose breath was hot and damp against the join of Wonsik's neck, who now tilted his head up and met Wonsik's eyes and kissed him before Wonsik had a chance to wonder if Hakyeon's eyes were truly red or if it was only a trick of the lamp light.

His kisses tasted of the faint sweetness of the rice wine that Wonsik had yet to taste from his cup but it couldn't have been more fragrant than tasting it from Hakyeon's lips tugging insistently at Wonsik's tongue. He pressed himself against Wonsik as if to leave a single sliver of space between them was a crime itself, as if his body had been moulded to fit against Wonsik's. He touched Wonsik with all the tenderness of a cat tending to her newborn kitten, with all the desperation of a man searching for an anchor in a darkness that yielded nothing but desolation. His hands were cold against Wonsik's touch, and Hakyeon's skin was cold against Wonsik's hands as clothes slipped away and Wonsik mouthed at the soft hollow by Hakyeon's collarbone. 

"I love you," Wonsik said again, and then against the dip of Hakyeon's neck: "I love you", and then brushing just across Hakyeon's lips: "don't leave me."

Hakyeon kissed him. He kissed him like a man dying for breath, like a man drowning, like a man who'd been struck with too much sadness and sorrow to be able to bear alone.

"I won't," Hakyeon said, and his words answered the space that Wonsik's had left. "I won't," he said again, and he pressed his lips against the dip of Wonsik's neck. "I won't," he said for the third time, and they lingered in their touch above Wonsik's heart, and there has always been power in threes, and three threes promise forever.

Hakyeon kissed lower, and lower, and Wonsik's back pressed against the floor, the smooth ridges of bamboo cool against his skin. Wonsik wanted to pull him back up until they lay with their chests pressed against each other, until they were kissing as if they were one, but Hakyeon's fingers were deft and soon stripped Wonsik bare. It couldn't be said to be warm in the room, and there was a slight shiver as Hakyeon shrugged off his own clothes, as Wonsik reached out to run the tip of his fingers down Hakyeon's bare chest, his tan skin, so, so, _so_ beautiful that Wonsik couldn't imagine having ever thought it was too dark. He could barely trace out one of Hakyeon's scars, one that ran down his side, old and faded and unremarkable but still sharp and white. Hakyeon caught that hand, held it up to his lips and kissed it, his lips soft against Wonsik's knuckles.

"I love you," Wonsik choked out, and Hakyeon ducked his head, hiding his eyes, his hair a veil in front of them.

"I know," Hakyeon said, and gods, his voice was so low and so soft and it burrowed through Wonsik's skin, seeped into Wonsik's heart, soaked him and suffused him until those two words and everything that came with it had become part of Wonsik. 

Hakyeon bent his head lower, dropped a kiss first against the jut of Wonsik's hip, and then against the other, and then his mouth was a soft touch against the tip of Wonsik's cock. Wonsik bucked up into the warmth, a low moan of a breath escaping him, his cock slipping between Hakyeon's parted lips.

"Hakyeon, _Hakyeon_ ," Wonsik babbled, Hakyeon's name on his lips but increasingly garbled as Hakyeon took him further and further into his mouth. He'd never been so undone except under Hakyeon's mouth, Hakyeon's touches, as if Hakyeon knew all his secrets and could take him apart only to put him together in the sheer headiness of pleasure.

"Hakyeon," Wonsik moaned, and then, because it was a thought that had lodged itself so firmly into his mind: " _I love you_."

There was a small hitch, a stutter of Hakyeon's tongue against the underside of Wonsik's cock, the scrape of blunt teeth, and then the slide of Hakyeon's lips against Wonsik's cock until they caught only the tip, and then there was nothing at all and Wonsik cried out for the loss.

"No, no, my love," Hakyeon whispered, and he was on top of Wonsik now, his cock heavy and just as full as Wonsik's. Wonsik's mouth was parted, Hakyeon's eyes were glassy, and Hakyeon kissed him but it was gentle, a brief brush of lips, not the desperate one that Wonsik was craving. "No, I want you to fuck me, my love, Wonsik, please."

"Hakyeon?"

"Like this," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik felt adrift at the loss of touch as Hakyeon's hand parted from Wonsik's cheek, as Hakyeon sat up—but then Hakyeon had sank down around Wonsik, enveloped Wonsik. It was all Wonsik could do, through the fire of arousal to register barely, ever so barely, that it was pain in which Hakyeon cried out in, that Hakyeon bit at his lips to catch that pain within himself, that Hakyeon's eyes had closed against it in a futile effort to block out the world within which it existed, but only enmeshed it deeper within himself.

"Hakyeon, Hakyeon, wait—"

"Fuck me," Hakyeon said again, his breath shaky. He opened his eyes and his chest was heaving, and he was hot and tight about Wonsik—too tight. Hakyeon's eyes were bright, the light reflecting in them as stars. His body was lithe and fine and Wonsik wanted to kiss him, to soothe him, to run his hands down his sides until Hakyeon was limp and relaxed. He wanted to turn back time just enough so he could open Hakyeon up gently, slick and well oiled, so he could tell Hakyeon that they had all the time in the world.

But: "please, Wonsik, my love, fuck me."

And so he does.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

When Wonsik awoke, Hakyeon was still quiet in sleep, his expression relaxed, at peace. His hair was no longer damp when Wonsik brushed it from Hakyeon’s eyes. They’d had enough presence of mind to move to the bed, to pull a blanket over themselves before they’d fallen prey to the relentless spectre of sleep, and Hakyeon’s bare skin was warm and smooth against Wonsik.

There was peace in the room, peace and darkness. Light filtered in from outside, for the moon was full and had finally risen, casting its frost like light over the floor of Hakyeon’s room, cool and silver as a dream. Wonsik lay on his side, his eyes unable to leave Hakyeon’s face, his closed eyes, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. He wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to hide him from the world and protect him and keep him safe. But Hakyeon would never consent to being caged like a songbird, a phoenix with its wings clipped and enclosed, and all Wonsik could do was stay by Hakyeon and pray that Hakyeon loved him too, and that Hakyeon would one day trust Wonsik enough to come to him in his most vulnerable moments, to know that if he had nothing else, he had Wonsik by his side.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Wonsik watched as lines formed between Hakyeon’s brows, as the muscles in his cheeks tightened, as his jaw grew tense. These were the subtle ways in which the world worked, that Wonsik had woken when Hakyeon was still quiet in sleep, his expression relaxed and at peace, that Wonsik still held that image in mind as Hakyeon began to stir, as he had before, as he had some nights, as there were times when Hakyeon had woken Wonsik with his whimpers.

"Sanghyuk," Hakyeon was saying. "Sanghyuk, Sanghyuk."

"Shh, shh," Wonsik whispered. He gathered Hakyeon close as he did every time, ran a hand through his hair as he did every time. "It’s just a dream, you’re here, you’re here."

"No, Sanghyuk, _Sanghyuk_ ," Hakyeon cried, and Wonsik held him tighter.

"It’s alright," Wonsik said, and he didn’t know if it was because he didn’t know what Hakyeon was dreaming. "It’s alright."

"No, no, _no_ ," and Hakyeon began to thrash in his grasp. "Let me _go_ , I need to find him, I need… Sanghyuk, please, I need to—"

"Hakyeon, Hakyeon you’re dreaming, it’s a dream," Wonsik said. He wiped at the tears that had begun to leak from Hakyeon’s eyes but they were replaced by more, and then Wonsik kissed away those tears, salty against his lips but they were replaced by more.

Never before had Hakyeon not calmed like this, not fallen back into a fitful sleep, or his eyes would flicker open unseeing and Wonsik would smooth his hand through Hakyeon’s hair or lace their fingers together until Hakyeon’s eyes again closed, until Hakyeon let out a sigh and pressed his face into Wonsik’s shoulder, and would wake up later with no memory of it all.

Hakyeon’s cries had become garbled, and all Wonsik could hear from them was pain and loss and no longer any words. The blanket slid down to Wonsik's waist as he sat up, the colder air hitting his bare chest sending a shiver across his skin, but soon it was replaced with warmth when Wonsik pulled Hakyeon up with him, clutched him close.

"Hakyeon," Wonsik murmured into Hakyeon’s hair, and he said his name again and again until Hakyeon stilled in his arms, until his cries and tears began to subside, until Hakyeon sat up and said, almost in wonderment: "I’m crying, why am I crying?"

"It was a dream," Wonsik said, stroking his back. "It was a dream."

"I'm crying, I can't stop crying," Hakyeon mumbled, and Wonsik brushed away his tears.

"Go back to sleep," Wonsik said— _'go back to sleep'_ he'd say, running his fingers through her hair, black and fine and long, and _'brother? Stay with me?'_ she'd say—

"Stay," Hakyeon said. The word puffed against Wonsik's skin, warm and damp. "Stay like this."

Wonsik breathed in the familiar musky scent of sweat from Hakyeon's hair, his fingers digging unconsciously into Hakyeon’s arm.

"You were dreaming," Wonsik said.

"I woke you," Hakyeon said with a shaky laugh. He wiped furiously at his tears, and a sound that might’ve been a laugh slipped through his parted lips.

"I was already awake," Wonsik said, and it wasn’t a lie. He was glad it wasn’t a lie. He’d never been very good at lying.

"I'm not sure I want to go back to sleep," Hakyeon said. His fingers curled tentatively about Wonsik's arm as if he doubted his right; Wonsik ached for Hakyeon to grip at him as an anchor, but Hakyeon only let his fingers slide down to rest at Wonsik's elbow, and then against Wonsik's stomach. Wonsik fancied he could feel Hakyeon's pulse through that fragile touch; disregarding that it must've been his own.

"I'm not sure I _can_ go to sleep," Hakyeon said, and this was accompanied by yet another laugh which was not a laugh, although it slowly shed the fear and apprehension as the moon continued to rise and as Hakyeon's breaths steadied.

"Then we won't," Wonsik said. He shivered involuntarily when Hakyeon pushed aside the blankets to stand. There was no light in the room but for that from the moon and it lent Hakyeon an unearthly air as he stepped through it, silver and pale against his skin as if Hakyeon was a spirit descended from the moon itself. But Hakyeon was merely human, and he'd merely gone to light a lamp to dispel the darkness which the moon could not drive back.

There was not a line in Hakyeon's body that was out of place, no matter from what angle, no matter against which standard one judged. It was a beautiful body; the soft arc of his lower back, the gentle curve of his arm, the firmness of his calves, the dip in his ankle as Hakyeon hesitated and turned back to Wonsik, the lamp still unlit.

"The moon is enough," Hakyeon said, firm and decided. His steps were silent and smooth—dancer and thief—and he picked up Wonsik's discarded undershirt from the floor as he came back to the bed.

"Not that I want to hide such a stunning piece of art, but because you'd rather inconvenience both of us if you caught cold," Hakyeon said, the corner of his mouth lifting.

"It's more important that you don't get sick," Wonsik said, and Hakyeon laughed at that.

"As you say, Young Master," Hakyeon said teasingly. He fetched a robe, draping it loosely over his shoulders and tugging it about his chest. "It's warmer than it looks," Hakyeon said, correctly interpreting Wonsik's appraising eyes.

"It'd be nice if Fluffy was here," Wonsik said.

"Kim Wonsik, you would rather have my dog than me?" Hakyeon drew himself up to his full height—tall enough, but not to Wonsik—his eyes mock stern. But tonight was not a night where he could hold to such images for long and Hakyeon let it fall like snow from the overburdened branches of a winter tree.

"I had a dog when I was little," Wonsik said, reaching for Hakyeon and tugging him onto his lap even before Hakyeon had come back. "Well, it was my sister's dog. He used to sleep with her when she was scared or had nightmares, even if I wasn't there, so I thought... Well, maybe Fluffy is better at being with you than I am."

There were many things that Hakyeon could have said to that, there were many things that Hakyeon could have asked. For one: _there's no one better than you_. For another: _even if Fluffy was here I would want you._ For another: "you have a sister?"

A breath, a hitch, another breath. "Had," Wonsik said quietly.

"I didn't know."

There were many things that Wonsik could have said: _I never told you._ , _I didn't want to tell you._. "How much _do_ you know?" Wonsik asked. His words teased into Hakyeon's hair. 

Hakyeon huffed and twisted about so he could stare into Wonsik's eyes. His mouth was open to retort but he never got a chance to say a word, not when Wonsik placed a finger against his lips. The teasing had fallen from Wonsik's eyes, already drooping in shape.

"You didn't know because I didn't tell you," Wonsik said. "But there's a lot you know that I didn't tell you."

"Ah." A breath, rather than a word, and Hakyeon's lips close.

"And you, Hakyeon?"

"Me?"

"I know nothing about you, because you tell me nothing," Wonsik said—and there were better times for this, better ways to say this, but Hakyeon had trembled in his arms that night, caught in a nightmare that Wonsik couldn't comfort him from because Wonsik didn't know what he was saying would be alright. He ran a hand through Hakyeon's hair, touched their foreheads together, their eyes so close in the darkness that every, minute motion was clearer than it would have been in the day.

"You don't ask," Hakyeon murmured.

"Nor did you," Wonsik said.

"I... I didn't know if I could."

"Please trust me, Hakyeon. Trust me like I trust you."

"I do, my love, I _do_."

"Who is Sanghyuk?" Wonsik asked.

It was a question that ought to have cast a pallor over the room, one of silence and ice. It was a question that should have been considered carefully, but it was also a question that Wonsik had been carrying for some time. It was a question that drew out a hollow laugh, and: "I said his name, did I?"

"Yeah," Wonsik said, because Hakyeon had asked a question. Hakyeon's eyes were no longer meeting his, even if they were still touching, even if their eyes were not even a handspan apart. His weight was heavy in Wonsik's lap and reassuring but for the uncharacteristic fear that drew a cold finger down Wonsik's spine. "This... you've said it before tonight."

"Before?" And this is genuine surprise, Hakyeon's eyes wide, mouth parted in a small circle. "I've... said it before?"

"Yeah," Wonsik said again. He stroked a hand through Hakyeon's hair, because he found it comforting and he hoped that Hakyeon did too.

"I've woken you before," Hakyeon said. He let himself fall forward, let Wonsik guide his head until Hakyon rested his cheek against Wonsik's shoulder, his breath tickling at Wonsik's neck.

"Yeah," Wonsik said, because he had never been a good liar, and tonight was not a night for lies. They both knew it was true. Such things did not always need to be spoken.

"Is he your lover?" Wonsik asked.

"Sanghyuk?"

"Your soldier—"

"No, no," Hakyeon said, and his laugh lingered in the space beneath Wonsik's jaw. "His name was Ryeowook. He was... At the time, I thought he was old and wise and sure, but he was younger then than I am now. No, Ryeowook was..." Hakyeon took a breath, a steady one for all that it was taken to hide an unsteadiness that Hakyeon had yet to feel but knew would come. "Sanghyuk was my apprentice. My little brother. Is."

"The one you spoke of," Wonsik said, and Hakyeon nodded. His hair rubbed against Wonsik's skin with the motion. Hakyeon sighed heavily, sliding down until his head was pillowed in Wonsik's lap on top of the blanket, his hand catching Wonsik's, his fingers tracing the length of Wonsik's fingers.

"You remember," Hakyeon said. His hair fanned out underneath him. 

"Are you surprised?"

"I'd be worried if you didn't, Young Master Detective," Hakyeon said, laughing. 

"You don't need to tell me, but I'd like to ask," Wonsik said slowly. "What happened?"

"Sanghyuk?" Hakyeon asked, and the name sounded different from Hakyeon's lips when he was awake, than when he was tangled in the claws of the dark world of dreams. He spoke the name like it was a jewel, something precious, his tone softening and regretting and longing.

And then: "what do you know?"

"About?"

"About me."

Wonsik laughed, tightened the grip on Hakyeon's fingers, pushed his bangs back from his eyes and stared down into them. They were solemn, from the round curve of his lids to the sharp crease of the corners. 

"I know that you are a dancer, and I know that you dislike food that's too spicy. I know that you like to eat, and I know that you love a dog. I know that you've picked up one art after another because you said that there were often times when you had too little to fill your days with, through the years. And..."

He had not meant to pause, but many things that men did were things that they did not mean to do. Sometimes, these things mattered. Sometimes, they only slipped an awkward hitch in the memory that would form around this moment.

"And I know that you were a thief. I know the things you stole. I know that you were paid. I know that sometimes you tried to set things right, and at others, I don't know what you wanted to do. I know that you knew a soldier who left you to go across the sea, and I know now that his name was Ryeowook. I know that you had an apprentice, and now I know his name is Sanghyuk. I know where these two scars came from," and here, Wonsik paused stroking his hand through Hakyeon's hair like he were petting a dog to trace the scar below Hakyeon's shoulder, the one on his arm, "and I know that you are kind. I know that your heart is warm. I know that you belong to Jaehwan. I know that the callouses on your hands from training with a sword have softened," and here, Wonsik brought their interlaced hands to his lips for a gentle kiss, "and I know that you have beautiful calligraphy, that you have deft fingers, that you have a mind of quicksilver and a knack for words—and if that's all I know, it's alright."

Throughout this, Hakyeon had not moved, had not stirred except to blink twice, three times, staring up into Wonsik's eyes. He'd cried already, his eyes were red already—he only blinked.

"And you know that I love you," Hakyeon said, and the conviction in those words that could have been a question bound itself about Wonsik's chest.

Wonsik bent down, placed a kiss against Hakyeon's forehead. "Yes," he whispered, and Hakyeon's hair fluttered against his skin.

"I know," Hakyeon said, and then he interrupted himself with a pause, and then a sharp breath, and then a slow exhale through which his eyes shut. "I know things about you I should not know," Hakyeon said. Admitted.

"I know that too," Wonsik said, and it was with a small laugh that absolved Hakyeon of all blame, even if Hakyeon could not have known it. "Stalker."

"Like that time you were drunk and nearly walked into the water in the middle of the palace," Hakyeon said, eyes opening and lips curling in mischief.

"How would you know something like that?" Wonsik spluttered.

"Heard you talking with the Prince," Hakyeon said breezily. "You'd be surprised how little attention people pay to the people who serve them."

"What do you mean?"

Hakyeon waved his free hand briefly, before letting it drop on top of his chest. "Waiters, guards, servants, soldiers. I don't mean your own of course. Mm, for example, you must've passed guards by the gate when you came in, do you remember what they look like?"

Wonsik frowned, as if squinting would help him remember. "Maybe? I think I could identify them if I saw them again."

"Have you seen them before?"

"I don't know," Wonsik admitted.

"Exactly! If a great detective doesn't notice, how would someone like me?" Hakyeon said.

"Somehow I feel like you _would_ notice," Wonsik said dryly.

Hakyeon shrugged, his shoulders brushing against Wonsik's thighs as he shifted his position. "True, no one can compare to me," Hakyeon said and Wonsik laughed.

"So humble," Wonsik said.

"That's one more thing you know about me," Hakyeon said, grinning so wide that his smile stretched across his face. Wonsik couldn't help but to place a kiss against Hakyeon's nose.

"I suppose I do," Wonsik said.

Hakyeon blew out a laugh that was also a sigh, and his eyes closed again. He had beautiful lashes.

"I'm tired," Hakyeon said. His voice was soft again, and the tiredness he spoke of threaded itself through his words.

"Then sleep," Wonsik said. Hakyeon shook his head, eyes still closed as he sought blindly for Wonsik's hand. He laced their fingers together when Wonsik took his hand and held Wonsik's hand tightly.

"I don't think I can," Hakyeon said again. "Tell me about yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"Mmhmm, your case. Sometimes you sound smart when you talk about it."

"Sometimes I sound stupid?"

"I refuse to comment," Hakyeon said blandly. Wonsik mimed hitting Hakyeon, but turned it into a soft pat on the shoulder instead.

"Most people get nightmares from hearing about murders," Wonsik said. "Doesn't help a person sleep."

"I'm not most people. Besides, I already said I don't want to," Hakyeon said. "Ah, I know. Let's make a deal. You tell me about the murder, and I'll tell you a little more about Sanghyuk."

"Sanghyuk? Hakyeon, you don't have to—"

"I think that's a good deal, you answer my question and I'll answer yours. Think of it like you're telling me a bedtime story," Hakyeon said. There was a bit of a whine in his words, one that reminded him of Jaehwan on his milder days, and Wonsik chuckled.

"Alright," Wonsik agreed. He scratched behind Hakyeon's ear, watched in amusement as Hakyeon's still closed eyes twitched. 

It had become a familiar routine: Wonsik laying out the scene the way he might do it with Taekwoon, from the placement of the bodies, the set-up of the scene, the time of death, facts of note. Hakyeon interrupted once to ask what else had been displaced in the fight, and once more to ask how he'd found the pendant. Wonsik indulged him; sometimes Hakyeon would raise questions that neither Wonsik nor Taekwoon had ever considered. He played with Hakyeon's fingers, rubbing circles against his skin, letting Hakyeon tangle their fingers together in indiscernable patterns. 

"There was a suspect?" Hakyeon echoed, when Wonsik moved on once he'd set the scene. His eyes opened in a slow motion.

"Yeah," Wonsik said. "Inn-keep caught him on the stairs when he was trying to leave."

" _Stairs?_ " Hakyeon snorted. "That's impossible. Why would he leave by the stairs?"

Here, Wonsik hesitated. Unease festered within his throat and something that Wonsik couldn't bring himself to name prickled at his chest. It choked the words and chained them within him, as if it was shame that kept him from speaking them to Hakyeon. A sigh poured out of Wonsik unbidden, and he forced a small smile at Hakyeon's questioning look.

"There _was_ a suspect," Wonsik said. He let silence follow his emphasis on that single word, let Hakyeon pick through what Wonsik couldn't find it in himself to name.

It didn't take long.

"I don't understand," Hakyeon said. "Why?"

And so Wonsik told him. He told him of how he and Taekwoon had spoken to him in the morning, and then they had gone to speak to him again in the afternoon. He told him of how it was poison, and how Taekwoon had rushed home—the city over an hour away—and rushed back. Told him how the antidote had worked. Told him how they'd found him dead in the morning.

Wonsik didn't tell Hakyeon what Taekwoon had told him of the poison.

"So it's not over—the case," Hakyeon said.

"No, it is," Wonsik said. His lips pressed together into a hard line, and he breathed out heavily. "Jaehwan ordered us to stop—it wasn't him, he said the order came from above him."

"Above the Prince?" Hakyeon hummed softly, his eyes falling shut again. "Seems like a matter of national importance."

"Perhaps," Wonsik said. "Or a corrupt official with things to hide."

"Mm. That is possible. You're not going to chase it?"

"Some questions are better left unanswered. Perhaps this is one of them," Wonsik said. "None of us like it, but there's not much we can do."

"Even though you have another unsolved murder on your hands," Hakyeon said. "Your first suspect."

"Yes," Wonsik said, voice grave.

"And the second?" Hakyeon's eyes flashed open this time, held Wonsik's steadily.

"'There is no second'," Wonsik said with a small shrug, the slight lift of a brow.

"You're letting him go," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik nodded. 

"Maybe that's for the best," Hakyeon said. He caught Wonsik's hand between both of his, stretching out each of Wonsik's fingers one by one. His eyes were veiled behind his lashes, already dark in the night's room, the moonlight's reach shrinking back towards the window.

"You think so?"

"Mmhmm."

"He killed two people."

"I know."

"Hakyeon, he _killed_ two people. That can't just be overlooked and not matter—"

"But you have to, don't you?" Hakyeon's eyes flickered back up to Wonsik's, before he looked back towards Wonsik's hand. "Shall I tell you about Sanghyuk now?"

Wonsik swallowed a breath, and nodded.

"And then after, you have to tell me one more thing about you," Hakyeon said. 

"Alright," Wonsik agreed easily. Hakyeon had let go of Wonsik's hand and it rested on top of Hakyeon's now. His eyes again shut, and the breath that Hakyeon took was deep and steady. Wonsik brushed his thumb along Hakyeon's cheek, drawing out the smallest smile.

"Sanghyuk... Well, he's big," Hakyeon said, laughing a little. "He was this scrawny thing when I first saw him, all limbs and just starting to grow. He..."

Hakyeon paused, his lips bit between his teeth. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped soft, barely louder than a breath.

"It was a job at a brothel, not even a good one. He looked too pathetic to leave there," Hakyeon said. "Maybe it's because he reminded me of myself, once. He was starting to grow too, starting to look less boyish." A pause, a breath. A decision. "And that's the story of how I ended up with an apprentice."

"So you kidnapped him?" Wonsik teased. There were words that lingered about Hakyeon, but the silence that had fallen was momentarily too heavy for Hakyeon to push away himself. Hakyeon smacked Wonsik for his words, huffing indignantly.

"I asked him if he wanted to go anywhere," Hakyeon said. "He said he wanted to come with me. Stupid kid, insisted even when I told him I was a thief. He just looked at me and said 'I know', like _I_ was the stupid one for asking. He got good—I trained him personally, so of course he'd be good, but he had natural talent. Like me."

"Mm," Wonsik hummed, filling in the space after Hakyeon's words. He brushed Hakyeon's hair away from his face, continued to run his fingers through his hair.

"Good kid, but _too_ much like me," Hakyeon said quietly. He reached up and caught Wonsik's hand without opening his eyes, lacing their fingers together, holding both of Wonsik's hands now. The lingering callouses on Hakyeon's fingerpads rubbed against the backs of Wonsik's hands.

"Cocky. Invincible." Hakyeon laughed, and this time, it was with a shakiness that he didn't bother to hide. "I shouldn't have taken him along that time but he said he was good enough, and I believed him. Turns out my employer left out some important information—it was a dangerous organisation and they knew it. I... I went back but I never got the mark or Sanghyuk back."

Wonsik gripped Hakyeon's hands tighter and dropped a kiss between his closed eyes. What could one say in times like these?

"That was... two? three? years ago. Somewhere along the way I figured the capital was as good a place as any to set up a new base, and that's where our story begins."

"You mean the one where you were my biggest headache for months?" Wonsik asked.

"I do," Hakyeon said, sounding a little too delighted. "The chase is half the fun."

_Except when it's not_. Words that neither of them spoke into existence, but words that they both filled in within their hearts.

"You were very thorough," Wonsik said.

"A lesson learned the hard way," Hakyeon said softly. "That I forgot long enough to grow cocky. Your fault, really, for being too interesting."

"Hm? Me?"

"Didn't you hear what I said, Young Master Detective? Yes you." Hakyeon's lips curled in a smile. "I learned more about you than I needed to know, to know how you worked." 

"And what would that be?"

"That you are kind," Hakyeon said without hesitation. "That you're scared of bugs, and that you like to drink even if you can't compare to the Prince and always get drunk first. That you're cold and brisk and efficient—but with each case of mine you took, your investigations became more and more lackluster, until you stopped searching for suspects and witnesses to interview altogether. I learned that sometimes, your lights would burn well into the dawn—and sometimes I'd have to hide because you suddenly decided you needed to revisit the scene in the middle of the night. I learned that even though you have many acquaintances, you're close to only two people—and I wondered about that, and now I wonder if I know why. And... And I learned that you wanted to meet me."

"I did," Wonsik said. "You must've overheard me say that, huh."

"You and the Prince, of course," Hakyeon said. "Taekwoon speaks _far_ too quietly to overhear, it's rather rude of him."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," Wonsik said solemnly. This drew a laugh out of Hakyeon, the sound of silver starlight if there was such a sound.

"Taekwoon... Taekwoon still wants to catch you," Wonsik said.

"Yes, you've said that," Hakyeon said. He kept his words light, heavily so. "Pity, we might've made good friends, don't you think so?"

"Taekwoon?" Wonsik blurted out. "He'd skin you with his eyes even if you talked half as much as you do."

"Pity," Hakyeon said again with a deep sigh.

It was something that Wonsik had learned early on as a child; something seen with the eyes was not always something that needed to be seen with the mind, something that could be known was not always something that had to be known. Such as things that needed to be said and things that wished to be said—and things that could not be said unless the river of thoughts was unblocked by another. 

There was comfort to be found in touch. The weight of Hakyeon against Wonsik's lap was a comfort, just as the warmth of Wonsik's stomach by Hakyeon's cheek soothed away the tension the night had brought, the distress that sleep had left behind. Time passed in silence although neither drifted towards sleep, the night time emptier for the lack of cicada's song that had been so present only months ago. Soon, the stars would set behind the mountains and the moon would disappear again into the night. Soon, the sun would rise, and flood the edges of the world with a pale pink, before suffusing the world itself with light.

Wonsik pulled the blanket over Hakyeon, and Hakyeon opened his eyes and met Wonsik's with a smile. He reached again for Wonsik's hand and gripped it tight. To give and take comfort could so often be one and the same.

"I knew I'd quit some day," Hakyeon said. For all that his words were abrupt, they slid softly into the darkness of the room. "I just didn't know what I'd do after."

"If it's you, anything."

Hakyeon laughed. "Is that so? Serving tables in an inn for the remainder of my life didn't quite appeal to me. I wanted a peaceful life, but not so boring."

"Why did you stay?"

"Mm?"

It was a question that Wonsik had never been able to puzzle out the answer to, a question since Hakyeon had come to him that night with scars only half healed.

"You could have gone anywhere, done anything. Why would you risk your life for this? Why come to a place where people've been exiled or killed for bowing too few or too many times, or to the wrong person first? The capital, the palace—these have never been safe places, even if you weren't who you were."

"Ah, you're worried for me," Hakyeon said.

"It's hard not to, Hakyeon."

"These are hard questions, my love," Hakyeon said softly. "Will you really have me answer them?"

Yes. No.

"As you will," Wonsik said. He squeezed Hakyeon's fingers.

"It's no longer so early," Hakyeon said. He untangled his fingers from Wonsik's, tucked both his hands beneath the blanket, clasped them together where Wonsik could not see. "Or is it still too early—how many hours until dawn remain; is it early or late? Curiosity, perhaps. You did say you wanted to meet me, and I'm nothing but obliging."

"And after?"

"And after..." Hakyeon repeated, hesitating. "Yes, I could have left after. Gone anywhere or done anything as you said. Find some small town, plead amnesia. But where's the fun in that?"

Wonsik wanted to reach for Hakyeon's hand; he placed a hand on Hakyeon's shoulder instead. A light touch. Ran his thumb along the hollow by his collarbone.

"Living," Wonsik said. "Freedom."

"It almost sounds like you don't want me here," Hakyeon said, lips teasing upwards into a forced smile.

"Not if it would cost you everything," Wonsik said. He too closed his eyes. It was dark, but there could always be light found in darkness; Wonsik didn't want to seek out the light.

"Mm. One tends to grow attached to a place when they spend too much time there," Hakyeon said. "Maybe one can spend too long to leave."

"Is two or three years long enough?"

Hakyeon's laughter was too empty to be laughter, but it filled the space nonetheless. "One can never really run from the past anyway. It would've caught up to me some day."

"So you came here," Wonsik said.

"Don't they say there's no better place to hide than where they least expect it?"

"In the home of the local bailiff," Wonsik said drily. "The friend of the one person who's most bent on bringing you to justice."

"But there's also you here," Hakyeon said.

Heat flushed through Wonsik to his ears. "I love you," he couldn't help but say.

"Of course, my love," Hakyeon said. He rolled over onto his front, crawling up to his knees to place a chaste kiss against Wonsik's lips. "I know."

"I love you," Wonsik said again, his lips parting against Hakyeon's.

"I'm to see the Prince in the morning, and Eunji will be here soon to help me prepare—but we still have some time," Hakyeon said. He placed his hands on Wonsik's shoulders, gently pushing him back down onto the bed.

"For?" Wonsik asked, teasing. "Sleep?"

Hakyeon huffed, although the kiss he dropped against Wonsik's forehead was nonetheless soft. "Shush you," he said. "Let me have some fun before our child gets back."

"Our _child?_ " Wonsik spluttered.

"Fluffy, of course. Unless you _liked_ getting wet dog kisses while I was sucking your cock," Hakyeon said, a little too prim for his words. Wonsik covered his face with his hands.

"Do whatever you want," Wonsik mumbled.

"Oh I _will_."

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The smell of hundreds of dried herbs filled the room, suffused into the walls and floors themselves. Once, Wonsik would've covered his face rather than deal with the smell; it had since grown inoffensive and almost comfortable in its familiarity. Wonsik lounged on the floor, the low chair pushed aside in favour of Wonsik stretching his legs across the floor. A stack of paper sat on the floor next to him; several discarded sheets were pushed to the far side of the table, his notes crowding into one another.

They were in the front room, Taekwoon having closed for the day so he could do some housekeeping. He was doing so now, a notebook by his side as he went down the rows and rows of drawers of medicines that Wonsik could only name a handful of. From the back, the bitter smell of medicine being stewed drifted out, another smell that Wonsik had had no choice but to grow used to over the years of knowing Taekwoon.

It wasn't a big space, barely large enough to serve its purpose. There was a bed hidden behind an elaborate screen—it'd been a gift from Wonsik—and a table for measuring out medicines. The walls were lined mostly with drawers of medicines, with some space left for shelves of books, both notes written in Taekwoon's own hand and those that had been carefully curated and cared for over the years.

Wonsik yawned and stretched, clambering to his feet and rubbing at his stiff legs. He'd been sitting for far too long.

"Did you figure something out?" Taekwoon glanced over his shoulder at Wonsik.

Wonsik shook his head. "Still don't know how they disposed the body," he said. "I've gone through the place and I've gone through the maps, still nothing."

"You'll get it," Taekwoon reassured him. 

"Eventually," Wonsik said. He walked over to where Taekwoon was, peering at the labels. "How do you read this?"

Taekwoon smacked Wonsik on the shoulder, mouth jutting out in an irritated pout.

"There's nothing wrong with my writing," he said.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Wonsik said quickly, holding his hands up. "It's just... a bit hard to read."

"For _you_ ," Taekwoon muttered. "I can read it just fine."

"And that's what matters," Wonsik said. Taekwoon nodded several times in agreement. 

"I'm almost done," Taekwoon said.

"That's alright, I'm not here for anything—maybe I'll even take a nap."

"Don't you dare, or I'll never get you off my floor," Taekwoon said, eyes snapping to Wonsik in a glare.

"Alright, alright, I won't," Wonsik said, laughing a little. He clasped his hands behind his back as he stepped away to let Taekwoon do his work. His brows were furrowed in concentration, and he'd bite at his lip every now and then as he sifted through the drawers, nodding to himself when it was to his satisfaction or frowning even deeper when something wasn't right. The pages of his log book were quickly filled with Taekwoon's chicken scratches—Wonsik abruptly recalled Hakyeon's beautiful hand and had to swallow a laugh. And to think Hakyeon had said he and Taekwoon could've been good friends; Wonsik couldn't think of two people who were more different in every way. 

In time, Taekwoon moved to the back cabinet where Wonsik knew he kept the medicines already made and mixed, steeped, and extracted. It was guarded more closely with a lock—Taekwoon had once explained it to Wonsik, how if anyone ever tried to steal anything here, it would be the things in the cabinet, ready made as they were. 'Ingredients aren't useful unless you know how to use them', Taekwoon had pointed out, 'but medicine always is, as long as you know what you want to cure.' His expression had taken on a curious tone, but Wonsik hadn't been able to bring himself to question it.

Wonsik stood well back as he watched Taekwoon lift out each bottle, turning it in his hands, squinting at the seals. Every now and then he'd take a bottle back to the table that Wonsik had vacated, to mark something on it with ink in his chicken scratch, or carve a symbol into the ceramic itself. Some were the size of wine casks, while others barely could have held more liquid than a small cup of wine. They couldn't have said to be indistinguishable from each other—not two of any seemed to have been bought from the same maker, or matched in decoration, if there was any.

There was one he picked up with a sigh, the size of a large flagon of wine. Taekwoon turned to Wonsik, lifting it a little in his hands. "I don't think I'll ever need this again, but I can't seem to throw it away," he said. His voice had dropped into a bare whisper as he spoke, and he caught his lip between his teeth as he turned to replace it on the shelf. It was a pretty bottle; white flowers decorated the narrow neck, vibrant against the brown.

"At least," Taekwoon said, words disappearing into the shelves, "now I know it works."

"It was a good thing you did," Wonsik said. He paused, gathering his thoughts and sorting through words. " _The silver candle by the window witnesses the turn of seasons, as the maiden in the heavens is watched by the morning star. Spring's flowers render winter's pains no less beautiful, as the boy at the river sheds tears over his carved ice blossoms._ Don't regret it, and... I don't think anyone could have done what you did, Taekwoon. Be proud of that."

From behind him, Wonsik could see Taekwoon's ears flush pink. The heavy wooden doors of the cabinet were closed, the heavy metal lock was locked.

"You'd never pass the exams with something like that," Taekwoon muttered.

"Hey, it was on the spot—I'd study if I ever took the exams," Wonsik protested, drawing a small laugh out of Taekwoon.

"Wait here," Taekwoon said, pointing for Wonsik to go back to the table. Wonsik obeyed, watching in mild amusement as Taekwoon quickly shoved his book into an unlabelled drawer before hurrying off to the small space marked off as the kitchen. It didn't take him long for him to put out the stove fires and return with two large bowls of noodles that he'd started cooking in between his inventory. It was something Wonsik admired Taekwoon immensely for—he couldn't think of any other man he knew who could cook like Taekwoon did.

"It smells delicious," Wonsik said, crossing his legs and sitting up properly.

"I know," Taekwoon said proudly. 

"Thank you for troubling yourself," Wonsik said. "Then, I'll eat now."

"Mmhmm," Taekwoon hummed, his mouth already full. His cheeks were stuffed with food when he glanced up at Wonsik, eyes curling in a bright smile that his mouth was too occupied to accompany. He looked exceptionally like a child with his round cheeks; it could sometimes be hard to reconcile this Taekwoon that Wonsik knew so well with the Taekwoon that others saw. 

And when Taekwoon ate, he _ate_.

It didn't take long for the bowls to be emptied and put away, for the rice wine to be warmed and placed onto the table, Wonsik's notes shoved to the floor with the rest of the paper. It was mild and sweet, and Taekwoon often said it helped him think. Wonsik didn't disagree—in moderation.

They weren't working on a case tonight. It was an old one that Wonsik had dug up that he'd been looking at, and a man two years dead could wait another day to have justice served for him. The passing of time, Wonsik had also found, could sometimes be the best help in a tough case. Tonight, they were simply two old friends who'd come together to talk over wine on the cusp of winter, to play a game of chess, or perhaps two. There was no moon tonight, but the evenings had grown cold, and it would be several moons before it would be properly enjoyable to sit outside. The moon had risen in the morning and had lingered pale in the sky for some hours before dipping back into rest. 

"It'll snow soon," Taekwoon said. He glanced towards the window, where lantern light could be faintly seen.

"It is getting cold," Wonsik agreed.

"It's the best time to kill someone," Taekwoon noted absentmindedly. "The snow covers everything, until even the scent of the blood has been swallowed. In the woods, it can be months before the body is discovered."

"I was hoping we could avoid murder for the night," Wonsik said, tone a little wry.

"Mm. If I'd been hired to kill someone, it's when I'd kill them," Taekwoon said.

Wonsik's fingers stuttered to a stop, reaching for his cup. Taekwoon was still staring towards the window, an inscrutable expression on his face. His expression was blank, but for the slight tension in his cheek, the twitch of his jaw as it clenched and unclenched.

"You wouldn't," Wonsik said.

"How do you know?" Taekwoon glanced at Wonsik, as if reading the slight waver in his voice that he was sure he'd hidden. 

"Because you're you," Wonsik said firmly. 

"I am," Taekwoon said. His fingers curled lightly about his cup, Taekwoon reaching beside him for it without his eyes leaving the window. "And because no one ever poisoned me when I was a boy."

"Would you think about this if he were alive?"

"He was killed," Taekwoon said. And then: "it's not fair." And then: "the world isn't fair."

"No," Wonsik agreed. "It's not."

"Even if the case hadn't been forced closed, no one would have looked into his death," Taekwoon said. 

"The law isn't always about justice," Wonsik said. It was a quiet sound, the one of a cup being placed against the wooden table, yet loud enough to punctuate his words.

"'Sometimes the law isn't right', you said that," Taekwoon said.

"I did."

"I didn't agree."

"No, you didn't."

The shuffle of cloth as Taekwoon crossed his legs, and then kneeled, and then sat down and crossed his legs again.

"I still don't," Taekwoon said.

Taekwoon was only wearing a single earring today. Wonsik didn't know how he hadn't noticed it sooner. It was silver and plain, not set with any jewels, as his always were. Taekwoon had been wearing two earrings the first time they'd met; Wonsik recalled that it had struck him as odd, but as the years passed, it simply became part of who Taekwoon was. To see him without was odder. 

"Maybe..." His earring wavered in the light with the slight motion of his head. "But maybe some things aren't supposed to be judged by the law," Taekwoon said, his words falling firmly into place.

"There's a difference?" Wonsik caught his lip between his teeth for a moment, and then caught himself doing it, and rolled back his shoulders instead.

"A hundred people could die, and they'd treat it like the death of an ant," Taekwoon said. 

A full four weeks, more than a full cycle of the moon. Wonsik had no doubt that these thoughts had been brewing in Taekwoon's mind for all this time, like the way a medicine would simmer for hours on the stove, until it'd all been extracted into its murky brown existence.

"You've known this," Wonsik said.

"I know," Taekwoon said. He reached up and absently touched his earring, freezing for a moment when he seemed to register the absence of one. It lasted a moment, and then he'd caught it in his fingers again, long and slender and pale.

"What's that?" Wonsik gestured at where Taekwoon's sleeve had slid down to his elbow. A set of dark red scars had been raked across his wrist. Taekwoon glanced at it, rubbing his fingers over the marks. To Wonsik's surprise, Taekwoon's expression softened, his lips settling into a smile.

"I think she'll visit soon," Taekwoon said.

"She?" _Ooh, do you have something you've been hiding?_ Hakyeon's voice slipped into his mind. Wonsik nearly choked at the thought of asking Taekwoon that—Taekwoon gave him a cross look anyway.

"Yes," Taekwoon said flatly. "And no, it's not my lover."

For all that he'd said it blandly, Taekwoon's ears began to take on a pink hue, and he turned resolutely away from Wonsik, going so much as to get to his feet and pad silently to the front door. Cold night air rushed into the small shop, and Wonsik pulled his jacket tighter about himself.

"It's cold," Wonsik called out. Taekwoon ignored him, crouching down in the doorway. He was saying something, but it was too quiet and far for Wonsik to make it out. Wonsik was just about to go investigate when Taekwoon stood and turned, finally closing the door behind him.

"She knew you were here, so she didn't come in," Taekwoon said. He didn't glance up, away from the small brown cat he held in his arms. She'd nestled her head in the crook of Taekwoon's arm, one green eye opening distrustfully as Taekwoon sat down again across from Wonsik.

"You... got a cat?" Wonsik asked.

"She's not mine, she just visits sometimes at night," Taekwoon said. "If it's cold, she'll come more."

The cat had either decided Wonsik wasn't a threat or was below her attention, and happily purred as Taekwoon stroked her head.

"I guess we're not playing chess tonight," Wonsik said, and wasn't unduly surprised when Taekwoon shook his head.

"Do you think she'd let me pet her?" Wonsik asked.

Both the cat and Taekwoon glanced up at him, and it was somewhat eerie how alike it was. But whereas Taekwoon's look spelled out 'do you what you want', the cat's eyes had taken on Taekwoon's best death glare. Wonsik swallowed and placed his hands firmly in his lap.

"I... think she's comfortable where she is," Wonsik said. 

"She's pretty," Taekwoon said. "She's very friendly."

"I'll take your word for it," Wonsik said. Taekwoon snorted in a badly disguised laugh, scratching below the cat's chin. She tilted her head up, her sharp teeth poking out of her mouth, letting Taekwoon reach under her neck. For some reason, even though Fluffy had very sharp teeth as well, she felt much... fluffier.

Other than the cat's purrs and Taekwoon's quiet murmurs to the cat that even Wonsik couldn't hear, the only sound in the room was the occasional crackle from the brazier. Wonsik watched as the wick of the candle shortened, as wax dripped down into the holder and wondered if he should take his leave. The cat might not have been Taekwoon's lover but Wonsik felt strangely out of place nonetheless.

"I thought about it." Taekwoon's words were barely louder than the ones he'd been speaking to the cat. He never paused in stroking her behind her ears. "If no one was hurt, and no one will be hurt, it's better to put my energy to something else."

Wonsik's heart skipped a beat, and then it skipped another. He poured himself another cup of wine, almost splashing it out of the shallow sides.

"And how did you come to that decision?" he asked. A man's disposition was not so easily changed; a decision like this from a man like Taekwoon would not be one that was made easily. 

But Taekwoon only shrugged, as if he made such decisions like this as regularly as a cat in its fickleness chasing after a bird or a rat.

"You persuaded me I guess," Taekwoon said. "You and Jaehwan."

"Is that so," Wonsik murmured. 

If it were true—if Taekwoon truly had chosen to give up the chase of Hakyeon...

"You don't sound that happy about it." Taekwoon finally glanced up from the cat, his fingers stilling, resting on the top of the cat's head. There was a question in his own eyes, light lines between his eyes. 

_I'm too happy about it._

"It's good to move on," Wonsik said. He cleared his throat, softened his voice. The scar on Taekwoon's face had faded over the months, but it would never be invisible. "We wouldn't want to see you hurt again."

"It was my fault," Taekwoon said, and Wonsik's eyes opened wide at Taekwoon's admission. As if aware of Wonsik's scrutiny, Taekwoon bent his head with firm purpose.

"Yeah, uh, it's good to see you be the bigger person," Wonsik said slowly. He couldn't see too clearly, but he was fairly sure that Taekwoon's lips had jutted out into an irritated pout. The chess set hadn't even been taken out, let alone touched, but it was time for Wonsik to take his leave. It was growing late—a spare thought to see Hakyeon, to tell him that Taekwoon was less of a danger now than he'd thought, but it was late, and it was a message that could wait.

"It's growing late," Wonsik said. He got slowly to his feet, his legs numb from sitting for so long.

"Go home safely," Taekwoon said. "I won't walk you to the door."

"I can find my way," Wonsik said. His heart swelled with fondness, that he had grown so familiar to Taekwoon that Taekwoon knew he wouldn't mind not being seen out. He would have gone to ruffle Taekwoon's hair had the door not opened just then, quiet and almost sneaky. 

"Who's there!" Wonsik snapped about on his heel—what sort of ruffian would enter a residence unannounced—

"Oh. I. Wonsik? I, ah, I wasn't expecting you to be here?" 

—the Eleventh Prince, dressed more plainly than Wonsik had ever seen him.

" _Jaehwan_? You scared the crap out of me, wait, Jaehwan? Taekwoon, if you'd invited him you should've said something," Wonsik said, rubbing at his chest.

"I didn't invite him," Taekwoon mumbled. His ears had turned pink, and so had his cheeks, and... all of him.

The cat had jumped from Taekwoon's lap and made straight for the door—or for Jaehwan. Wonsik watched in silence as the cat wound its way about Jaehwan's legs, his mouth dropping a little open when Jaehwan cooed and picked it up, rubbing their faces together with more familiarity than Wonsik ever would have expected.

"I can't come visit my favourite doctor unannounced?" Jaehwan said, apparently regaining his composure.

_She visits sometimes at night,_ Taekwoon had said.

Wonsik could feel his eyebrows doing rather impressive acrobatics. "Right. Uh. Well. I'll take my leave. See you later. Taekwoon. Jaehwan." 

Wonsik couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Taekwoon's face so pink, and hurried out into the night before Wonsik turned a matching shade.

Not his lover indeed.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"So. You and Taekwoon, huh?"

"He has nice shoulders!"

"Shoulders?" Wonsik repeated. "Are you sure that's all that's nice?"

"And fingers—why are you grilling me like that," Jaehwan whined, his lips jutting out in an exaggerated pout. "You're supposed to be the supportive one. Aren't I still cute?"

"Very cute," Wonsik said as gravely as he could, and was rewarded with a bright smile and scrunched up eyes.

"But really, _Taekwoon_? You?"

"I dunno, it just happened," Jaehwan said.

It'd been half a week since that revelation, and Wonsik hadn't seen Jaehwan since. Him and Taekwoon had reached an unspoken agreement that it would remain undiscussed, and it suited Wonsik just fine. Wonsik didn't think he'd get a word out of Taekwoon about it even if they hadn't—he'd taken to turning an alarming shade of pink any time the conversation veered even the tiniest towards the Eleventh Prince. Wonsik couldn't imagine what would happen if he actually _asked_ about it. Or, he could, but he wasn't willing to put his life on the line to test it.

Jaehwan was a different matter.

Their morning stroll had taken them to their usual bridge, the waterfall behind them a constant current of sound, enough to dull and mask their conversation. They could talk easily here; any eavesdropper would have to sneak far too close to catch even a single word. Jaehwan was dressed in bright red silks today and it was so much an echo of half a year ago that it took Wonsik a good second to shake the image from his mind. It had grown cold, but the sun lent its warmth and to spend the day entirely indoors was too stifling for any of them. Dressed in warm cloaks and with little wind, the day was not unpleasant even if their breath puffed in clouds in front of them. There was no snow; the clouds a day past had threatened it, yet had blown away into nothingness to leave the sky bare and clear.

Jaehwan's hands were tucked inside his sleeves although he leaned against the railing anyway; if he put any more weight on it, Wonsik feared that Jaehwan would topple in. His lips had taken on a familiar pout, and Wonsik patted his head fondly.

"The two of you fought like cats and dogs, it can't just _happen_ ," Wonsik said, smiling when Jaehwan's pout deepened.

"It can, it did," Jaehwan whined, but like a willow tugged by the wind, Jaehwan let his overly lovable act slide away, the way a willow branch would sway free. 

"Taekwoon... I dunno, he's... I guess I thought he was pretty cool," Jaehwan settled with, his words trailing off into a mumble. It was the truest sign of Jaehwan's sincerity; the unsurety in his words. 

"Since that night at the retreat," Wonsik filled in gently, and was rewarded with a slow nod.

"Y'know what's funny? It was when I went to give him those herbs and medicines your thief gave you for him—he was so surprised, and it was kinda cute? So I brought him more things! And... He's not as grumpy as he looks?" Jaehwan worried at his lip, staring at the fishes that flashed in reds and whites just below the surface of the water.

"I told you he's not grumpy," Wonsik said.

"I _know_ , but he still _acts_ like it. He's like a kid!" 

"Coming from you?" Wonsik chuckled. Jaehwan and Taekwoon. He never would've thought it could have happened, but the proof was in front of him that snow could come in summer. _Taller and prettier_ was more of his type Jaehwan had said, when Wonsik had asked if it was alright with how much time he spent with Hakyeon. Well. He couldn't deny that Taekwoon was taller than Hakyeon and a shade paler than even Jaehwan, and he was more than handsome enough. 

Jaehwan sighed, shucking his sleeves up past his wrists so he could grip the railing, this time leaning forward so much that half his body was over the water. 

"I would've told you eventually, but Taekwoonnie didn't wanna," Jaehwan said.

" _Taekwoonie?_ You call him that?" Wonsik gaped, and couldn't bring himself to close his mouth.

"Why not?" Jaehwan shrugged, but his smile was almost wolfish. "Oh, y'know what else of his is nice? Taekwoonie has a _really_ nice—"

"Stop!" Wonsik yelped. Jaehwan's eyes had gone wide at Wonsik's volume—Wonsik swallowed and shook his head. "Stop talking, please, this is why Taekwoon didn't want you saying anything."

"Aw, but you're sure you don't want to know what your two best friends are doing—"

"I _especially_ don't want to know what my two best friends are doing at night," Wonsik groaned.

"I never said _at night_ ," Jaehwan said, quirking an eyebrow with unmistakable meaning.

"Right. Well, how about we just pretend I never asked and that this conversation never happened," Wonsik said quickly. 

Jaehwan laughed, almost a cackle as Wonsik tried to will away the flush in his cheeks. 

"I wanted to talk to you about Hakyeon," Wonsik said.

"Oh?"

The curiosity in Jaehwan's eyes helped Wonsik to gather his composure, and he nodded. 

"Is my dancer not to your satisfaction you in some way?" Jaehwan asked.

" _No_." Wonsik narrowed his eyes at Jaehwan, and particularly at Jaehwan's expression. "You don't visit him much—no, wait, let me finish. You don't visit him much, and other than me and Eunji, he doesn't have much company."

"Isn't that why you got him that dog?"

"Yes," Wonsik admitted—he'd told Hakyeon as much, in not so different words. "But don't you think it's a little stifling, to be cooped up so much?"

"Cooped up?" Jaehwan frowned. "I've never said he can't go out."

"Of course you haven't," Wonsik said, unable to help the hint of impatience that crept into his tone. "But you know he'd never dare without your permission—and you know that no one outside your residence would believe he wasn't out without your permission unless he had some sort of proof."

"But why—"

"Because," Wonsik said very slowly and following the word with a long pause, "that's the way the court and the palace works for the rest of us ordinary commoners."

"You're not a commoner," Jaehwan said. A small pout was forming; he'd have to be beyond dense to not catch the bits of Wonsik's irritation that he couldn't hide.

"No, but even I'm only here because of you," Wonsik said. "Think of Hakyeon's status—do you think they'd believe him if he said you'd never prohibited him from leaving your residence?"

Jaehwan had a quick mind; even so, it took several long seconds of furrows deep between his brows before his lips parted in understanding, his eyes widening slightly as he turned back to Wonsik. "Oh," he said softly. "I understand."

"Thank you, my Lord," Wonsik said. He bowed deeply to Jaehwan.

"Don't bow," Jaehwan said, and Wonsik obligingly straightened. "You care for him that much?"

"I spend enough of his time," Wonsik said. He turned back to look over the bridge. It might not have snowed, but the surface of the pond had frosted over, small fissures through the thin ice leaving the pond looking like a crystal of snow itself. At times, it felt like a disservice to Hakyeon that Wonsik hid this from even Jaehwan; Jaehwan was his friend, but there were some lines that could not be so openly crossed. Perhaps, one day—no, there _would_ be one day where Wonsik could admit to Jaehwan that Hakyeon meant more to him than... than a dancer of Jaehwan's retinue. There _would_.

"Mm, I suppose that was an oversight on my part," Jaehwan mused. "Alright, I'll pay him a visit."

"Thank you, my Lord." Wonsik bowed again, smiling openly this time.

"Stop that, if you keep bowing I feel like I have to bow to you too," Jaehwan said. Wonsik laughed, and wondered what he had done in a past life that had earned him such good friends in this one.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It was a cold day.

Even seated inside with the room well warmed by braziers, the guests at the celebration to mark the date of the young Prince Jaesun's birth—Jaehwan's full younger brother—wore thick, fur lined cloaks. There had been food and hot wine, exquisite music and splendid performances, although the boy himself was only seven, the youngest of all the royal princes. Hakyeon had of course danced for them, Jaehwan's part in this celebration for his young brother. Wonsik had met his eyes only briefly and Hakyeon had allowed himself a small smile at that. He'd danced, as always, bare foot and dressed in only thin silks that fluttered about him as he moved like wind and water, despite the cold of winter. His dance had been much appreciated.

Wonsik had only met the boy a few times as he still lived with his Lady Mother; he would sometimes come to find Jaehwan to play, and the Eleventh Prince doted on the boy. Taekwoon was also clearly smitten by him, and the Seventeenth Prince was absolutely delighted by big brother Taekwoon's attentions and his gift of an intricate clockwork toy—Jaehwan's own smile was beyond fond.

He had gifted the boy with books. Too serious for such a young boy, but he was coming of age and it was stately and appropriate for Wonsik's own status. But Wonsik had another gift to give today, and he stood to again give his respects and thanks to Jaehwan and Jaesun's Lady Mother, and of course to Jaesun as well.

"Are you going?" Jaehwan asked, stepping aside to speak to Wonsik.

"To your residence," Wonsik said, his voice low. He nodded towards Jaehwan's Lady Mother, where other guests were also giving her their respects, preparing to depart. "It's an appropriate time for me to take my leave."

"We might be here a bit longer," Jaehwan said, glancing at where Taekwoon was still playing with Jaesun, his smile melting into a fondness that Wonsik was surprised he'd rarely ever seen. "It'll be good to spend some time with my mother and Jaesun as well."

"I might be at your residence a bit longer too," Wonsik said amused, and bowed and took his leave before Jaehwan could comment further.

If it had been cold inside, it was beyond cold as soon as he stepped out of doors. Wonsik huddled into his cloak, pulling it tighter about him. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had such a cold winter. There was thankfully no wind, or it would have pierced through skin like bitter knives, and Wonsik hurried out of Jaehwan's mother's residence and the women's quarters to return to Jaehwan's. It was cold, yes, but Wonsik had other thoughts that urged his steps faster, and though he smiled warmly at the guards as he passed, it was also with the briefest dismissals he gave as he strode past.

The relative warmth the moment he shut the door to Jaehwan's rooms behind him was a relief.

"Young Master!" Ara was a pretty young thing and she hurried over as soon as Wonsik entered. "Quickly come and warm yourself, I'll have hot tea ready immediately."

"No, I'm only here to get the thing I left here earlier," Wonsik said. There was a box set further in the room, that he nodded at now.

"At least warm yourself first," Ara insisted—she was one of the newer girls in Jaehwan's service, but she was kind and attentive and Wonsik could easily see why she had become a permanent fixture in Jaehwan's rooms.

"It's alright," he said, and Ara nodded. 

"I'll have someone bring it for you," she said, and Wonsik chuckled. Almost everyone in Jaehwan's household seemed to know of Wonsik's fondness for the dancer, but they were all fiercely loyal to Jaehwan and the knowledge was unlikely to spread.

"No need to have more people suffer than needed," he said, and she nodded again.

Nonetheless, his hands were _cold_ , his fingers extremely chilled as they gripped the handle of the box by the time he reached Hakyeon's rooms, not so far away. He didn't bother knocking before pushing his way in—Hakyeon would know it was him.

"Close the door," Eunji cried, a cold burst of air following Wonsik in.

"I am, I am," Wonsik said, shoving it closed with a little more force than he meant to.

" _Without_ breaking it please," Hakyeon added.

Wonsik laughed ruefully, setting the box down by the door as he walked over to where Eunji was helping Hakyeon undo all her careful work from hours earlier when she'd prepared Hakyeon to dance for the Seventeenth Prince. She stood as Wonsik came to sit beside Hakyeon, rubbing at her own stiff shoulders. Without asking, she went to the brazier to fetch the small porcelain hand warmer, filling it with hot charcoal. Beside the brazier, Fluffy's tail twitched, her ear flopping momentarily but didn't bother moving otherwise. Wonsik didn't blame her. 

Eunji had already carefully removed the hair ornaments, jeweled and exquisite, gifts from Jaehwan soon after Hakyeon had entered his household. His hair now flowed down his back, unbound. A cloak was draped about Hakyeon's shoulders and he sat cross legged in front of the low table with the mirror, a similar hand warmer resting in his lap, clutched between Hakyeon's fingers.

"You looked cold up there," Wonsik said. He took the wet cloth and began to wipe the makeup from Hakyeon's face.

"You mention that first and not my dance?" Hakyeon's voice was mock annoyed and Wonsik pursed his lips in apology.

"You know that you were wonderful," Wonsik said. "The most wonderful of any of the performances."

Eunji returned, handing Wonsik the hand warmer. "Here you go," she said. "I set some more tea for you too."

"Thank you," both Hakyeon and Wonsik said, and Eunji's eyes curled into crescents when she smiled. She didn't wait for an unneeded dismissal, although she did let in a blast of cold air as she left. 

"Your hands are cold, let me," Hakyeon said. He took the cloth from Wonsik, his fingers briefly catching his. Hakyeon's fingers were indeed warm.

Wonsik wrapped his own hands about the hand warmer, watched as Hakyeon carefully wiped away the dark kohl that lined his eyes, emphasising their shape. His face was half light half dark, from where Wonsik had wiped clean his cheek, along his jaw.

"Tell me the truth," Hakyeon said, his eyes closed in the mirror. "How was I?"

"Amazing," Wonsik said. "It's the truth."

Hakyeon smiled, lines creasing under his eyes. "You'd say that no matter what."

"It is the truth!" Wonsik protested. 

"I suppose I have no choice but to believe you," Hakyeon said. He met Wonsik's eyes through the mirror, still smiling. Wonsik caught his lips between his teeth for a moment, and then reached for the cloth. His hands were warmer now, and he, like Hakyeon had earlier, let their fingers tangle before Hakyeon relinquished it.

Wonsik rewet it, turned Hakyeon's face towards him with a hand against his cheek. "You were lovely," he said. Hakyeon breathed out a small laugh, closing his eyes as he let Wonsik wipe his face clean of powder, the red from his lips, until his face was bare and he was simply Hakyeon, _his_ Hakyeon, not the Hakyeon that belonged to the court and its demands. He brushed Hakyeon's hair away from his face, tucked it behind his ears, letting his fingers linger for a moment on the always empty piercings at Hakyeon's lobes, the moles on his neck. Hakyeon's eyes opened then and Wonsik kissed him, soft and closed mouthed, a kiss that Hakyeon smiled into.

"Do you know, Jaehwan came a few days ago," Hakyeon murmured.

Wonsik pressed a kiss against Hakyeon's nose before he sat back and nodded. "I thought he might," he said.

"In other words, you asked him to," Hakyeon said, his lips twisting in amusement.

"I might've," Wonsik admitted.

"He gave me a seal to carry," Hakyeon said. Wonsik tugged Hakyeon to his feet and pulled him towards the brazier, Hakyeon following willingly. His words carried clouds of smoke.

"Did he?" Wonsik asked, feigning surprise. Hakyeon glowered and smacked Wonsik on the shoulder that Wonsik obediently didn't dodge. It made Hakyeon smile.

Fluffy'd opened her eyes at the commotion, and Wonsik lay on his stomach to pet her and scratch behind her ears. Her tongue lolled out in contentment. 

"Thank you," Hakyeon said, voice soft. "That seems inadequate, but there are no words that I can use to properly thank you."

"It only seemed right," Wonsik said. He'd had to let go of the hand warmer and it was now placed by his side, but Fluffy was as warm as any, and Wonsik started patting her with both hands. 

"Did you know, I was going to name her Peach Blossom?" Hakyeon said. Wonsik snapped about, eyes wide. "But your _face_ when I said I'd name her Fluffy, I didn't have a choice after that."

Wonsik laughed and sat up, Fluffy whining.

"They're both good names," he said, picking up the small dog and putting her in his lap. 

"You'd think anything I chose was a good name," Hakyeon said. He moved over so he could lean his head against Wonsik's shoulder, and to scratch Fluffy behind her ears.

"Fluffy suits her," Wonsik said. "She's very fluffy. Like you said."

"I _did_ say that," Hakyeon said, voice delighted. 

"I have something else for you," Wonsik said. He carefully dislodged Hakyeon and moved Fluffy over to Hakyeon's lap, getting to his feet and regretfully leaving the warmth of the brazier for even the few seconds it took to retrieve the box from the door. 

"What have you done this time, Kim Wonsik?" Hakyeon scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know I don't like it when you treat me like a pampered court thing."

"I would do the same if you were the Emperor himself," Wonsik said. It had been a point of contention between them for some time, even if Wonsik insisted it was only right when Hakyeon had spent so long leaving him gifts. From inside the box, he drew out a thick warm cloak, far more finely made than Hakyeon's own. It was lined with the softest fur, and would shield against the fiercest wind. Hakyeon gaped open mouthed as Wonsik tugged away the cloak Hakyeon was wearing, carefully holding Hakyeon's hair out of the way, to replace it with the one he had brought. A rich, dark blue.

"It suits you," Wonsik said.

"Wonsik—"

"Don't tell me you weren't cold today," Wonsik said. His words were curt, far too curt, and he swallowed. He sat down behind Hakyeon and wrapped his arms about Hakyeon's waist, pressing his face against Hakyeon's shoulder.

"I took care of myself for years before you," Hakyeon said. Fluffy had buried herself inside of the cloak, without any of the qualms that Hakyeon had of enjoying its warmth. "Do you know how I lived—"

"That's all the more of a reason," Wonsik said. "And..."

"Don't test my patience," Hakyeon said, pulling aside to stare at Wonsik. His eyes had hardened, and Wonsik wished he could say he didn't know why. Wished that Hakyeon would accept that none of this was because of Hakyeon's status.

Wonsik took a deep breath, let out a deep exhale. "Father will be returning for New Year's. I won't be able to come so often for at least two months, perhaps more."

"When?" Hakyeon asked.

"Not for another two weeks," Wonsik said.

"Ah, we'll have to make the best of these two weeks then, won't we?"

"I'm not ashamed of you, it's just that—"

"I'm neither stupid or ignorant," Hakyeon said. He grabbed Wonsik's hand, his own hand warm from where it'd been tucked into the cloak, and held it tight. "We can not change the way things are."

There was too much truth in Hakyeon's words for Wonsik's heart to be at ease, too much truth and easy acceptance. But that was the way things were. That the snow would melt in the spring, that the leaves would fall in autumn. That Hakyeon had not been born to one of the old families, that Hakyeon had become a dancer in Jaehwan's court, that it was nothing but improper for Wonsik to love Hakyeon the way he did. Just as Wonsik would not be the first nor the last, just as the ducks that nested by the banks would one day cry with the loss of being alone. 

It was a cold day, and it was a cold winter. Hakyeon was warm in Wonsik's arms, in the cloak that Wonsik had gifted him. There was a small dog on Hakyeon's lap, and the dog too sought warmth in the cloak. The heat from the brazier washed over them both, but it was a paltry attempt when the day was so cold. Outside, the wind was still, as if acknowledging that the day was cold enough without its presence. Ice still lingered on the edges of roofs and the branches of the trees, and although Hakyeon could now freely come and go, it seemed a foolish thing in such weather. It had snowed, but the snow had melted away under the sun—the scholars who studied the weather said that there would be a heavy snow soon, that there would be several heavy snows by the time of the New Year. There were no cicadas, no bird song. It was quiet but for Fluffy's breaths, the dog blissfully ignorant and excluded from the convoluted lives of men, that men had wrought upon themselves.

"Your Father has been gone for a while," Hakyeon said.

"Since just before you stole that phoenix," Wonsik said.

"Ah, the phoenix." Hakyeon laughed, the sound vibrating through to Wonsik's skin. "Do you know how difficult it was to steal a chicken without killing it? Chickens are such noisy things."

"I can only imagine," Wonsik said gravely.

And then: "it's been ten years since my mother and sister died."

It was a quiet thought. Nothing more. An offering of a reason for the last time Wonsik's father had been present. Many of their ancestors were buried by the city that Magistrate Kim judged in, their old home. Wonsik had ridden there, and then he had ridden back with his father, for it was in the capital that his mother and sister, his grandmother and his grandfather and his grandfather's mother and father, had been laid to rest. All through the kingdom would such things have been done; graves tidied, food offered, words said. It was something that Wonsik had done all his life, but for the past ten years, there had been two more graves that he and his father had tidied.

"It has been a while since you have seen your father," Hakyeon said again. There were no words he could say that would match the way he clasped both of Wonsik's hands, pulled Wonsik's arms more tightly about himself.

"I'll be warm at least while you're away," Hakyeon said. There was a lightness in his voice that set Wonsik's heart at ease, that matter of fact Wonsik's words had been for himself, Hakyeon understood and would not push him on them further.

"Now you agree?" Wonsik said. "I will still come. After all, I have to come see Jaehwan at least once for the New Year."

"Then I look forward to it, Young Master," Hakyeon said, words formal but tone still teasing. Whatever more he had to say, however, was cut off by a loud yelp as the dog dug her claws into Hakyeon's leg when she leapt off chasing a shadow.

"Fluffy, no! Bad dog!" Wonsik scolded, and Hakyeon laughed, because what else was there to do when a sometimes dignified Young Master had managed to trip over his own cloak?

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"Young Master Wonsik."

Wonsik looked up from his reading to find Kyungmo standing there, hands clasped in front of him respectfully.

"Kyungmo?"

"Everything is in order, your guests will be here soon," Kyungmo said. 

"Thanks Kyungmo," Wonsik said. It would be a small thing, his own birthday celebration; it was only Taekwoon and Jaehwan, the only exception to one of their usual gatherings being the addition of Wonsik's father. It would be nothing like the one that they had attended a few weeks ago at the palace with music and performances and certainly no Hakyeon to dance for them—although Jaehwan had told him in very strict confidence that he'd persuaded Taekwoon to play the zither for them. Wonsik knew that Taekwoon played, had seen the instrument when he'd visited, but had never heard him play. Clearly, Jaehwan had, and clearly, it had been meant to be a surprise that Jaehwan couldn't help but slip. Oh, how Wonsik adored Jaehwan. 

But the formal way that Kyungmo had greeted Wonsik told him that there was more Kyungmo had come to speak to him about.

"Yes?" Wonsik asked.

"I see Young Master appears to be studying diligently," Kyungmo said, stepping forward to gesture at Wonsik's book. "Have you finally decided to take the exams for imperial office?"

Wonsik carefully shut the book and placed his hands on it as casually as he could, leaning back in his chair. "You all nag me to, I guess it rubbed off on me a little. But that's not what you came to speak to me about."

"Young Master Wonsik is exceptionally perceptive," Kyungmo said, bowing slightly. "You will surely do well when you take the exams. You may take these as an old man's ramblings to himself if you must, but please allow this old man to ramble."

Wonsik took a breath under Kyungmo's hard gaze, belying the casualness of his words that would follow.

"This old man noticed that a particular friend of the Young Master's is not present, nor was he invited. Now why would that be, one must permit such an old man to wonder? Furthermore, why has this old man seen this friend only once? Perhaps it was simply a mistake, but this old man couldn't help but think that the Young Master was on very good terms with this friend."

Kyungmo finally sat, pulling a cushion across the table from Wonsik, resting his hands in his lap. He _was_ old, Wonsik couldn't help but notice. The cold was hard on his joints.

"Kyungmo is old, Young Master, and an old man has seen many things in his life," he said. For once, Wonsik couldn't find it in him to protest that Kyungmo was not old. Nor was his gaze still hard, and it was hard to not note the weariness in those eyes that the years had brought.

"Youth is a flower that only blooms once," Kyungmo said softly. "Kyungmo was young once too, but that time has long gone. Nor are Kyungmo's friends still young, and far too many of them are no longer by our sides. But young people, young people... Perhaps what this old man is trying to say is that sometimes, young people will spend many nights away from their own beds, but there will always be a day when they are no longer young. A day when they wake up and find that there are choices in front of them."

"Kyungmo, what do you mean?" Wonsik couldn't help himself from asking.

Kyungmo shook his head, getting slowly to his feet. "Only an old man's ramblings, Young Master. An old man's ramblings."

"Is this because Father has returned?"

"Only an old man's ramblings," Kyungmo said again. "And the New Year is upon us, another year will have gone by, we will all be a year older. Now please rest, Young Master. Someone will fetch you when your friends arrive."

Wonsik watched in silence as Kyungmo bowed again and retreated, listened to the door close, the room echoingly quiet without Kyungmo's words.

An old man's ramblings.

Wonsik sighed, closing his eyes and kneading at them with the heels of his hands. It had been two weeks since his father's return—two weeks since he had last seen Hakyeon. He'd have to be a fool to not know who Kyungmo was speaking of—but he couldn't imagine that Kyungmo had connected Wonsik's nights away to Hakyeon, having only seen him once. _Perceptive_ , Kyungmo had called him. It had always been Kyungmo who was perceptive. He had not risen to the steward of the Kim household without being perceptive, attentive.

His father, his birthday, and the new year. 

Wonsik enjoyed having his father at home—he was a smart man and endlessly patient with his son. There were people Magistrate Kim had to visit, matters to attend to, but much of his time was spent with Wonsik—talking, debating, games of chess that had Wonsik wishing he played more when his father was away. He wondered if Hakyeon played—with a mind like Hakyeon's he'd surely be good at it.

Nor could Wonsik deny that his father's return hadn't prompted him to think more seriously of taking the exams, but it was not only that. _We can not change the way things are,_ Hakyeon had said, but maybe Wonsik could change the things about himself. He couldn't remain idle.

Choices that had to be made. A choice that Wonsik was already beginning to make.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It had been long years since such music had filled these rooms. 

Taekwoon sat at his zither, carefully and secretly brought into the Kim manor without Wonsik's knowledge. His fingers flew over the strings, the notes soaring and falling in rapid rhythm, like the river over pebbles, like the wind and rain at the end of a storm. The rain fell against the mountains, and from the mountains rose a mist that shone in the sun. Birds trilled and spring washed through the lands, and all of it was carried through the music that Taekwoon sang for them through the strings of his zither.

There was a pause, a moment where the fierce concentration with which Taekwoon had been playing with smoothed away, where Wonsik's friend's eyes fell shut, his fingers hovering over the strings before they moved slowly like a light snow carried by a breeze, reluctant to land. 'Pretty' was too inadequate a word to describe the music that Taekwoon played for them now, and it tugged at Wonsik's heartstrings in a way that such a pleasant, peaceful tune ought not to have. Perhaps it was because of Taekwoon himself, his gentle expression as he carefully plucked each note from the strings, weaving them into the colourful tapestry of a story, of a landscape, of a season.

But like all things, this too had an end, a last note, unwilling and reticent, finally falling into a space that had been waiting for it, and leaving behind it a space that could never be adequately filled.

The silence lingered, Taekwoon with his hands in his lap, his eyes drawn downwards. Even his own breathing seemed too loud to Wonsik.

It was Wonsik's father who spoke first.

"Wonsik writes often of you with praise, but he has never once said that Young Master Taekwoon was talented in such a way," he said. Like Wonsik, his voice was naturally loud and unapologetic, and it seemed a suiting way to end this segment of the night.

"Magistrate Kim is too kind," Taekwoon said, bowing his head even further. A pink flush had begun to show in his ears, and Wonsik couldn't help a small smile even as he shook his head in soft amazement.

"Even if I knew, Father, your son wouldn't have had adequate words to write to you with, but this is the first time I have heard Taekwoon play."

"Then you have truly bestowed upon my son a gift," Wonsik's father said, and Taekwoon's ears were now undoubtedly pink. 

"It's nothing, it's just something I do sometimes, I'm not very good," Taekwoon said, his voice going quieter and quieter, his words completely falling into a casual disarray.

"Not very good!?" Jaehwan might as well have squawked, for how loud his voice was. Wonsik winced, and Taekwoon's head shot up, while Wonsik's father turned back to look at Jaehwan with an amused smile on his face. "Taekwoon—"

"Come, come. It isn't a fault for a young man to be humble at times, as long as he is aware of his own ability," Wonsik's father said, and it was directed not only at Taekwoon. His next words, however, were. "Now we can't have a guest sit there by himself, come back to the table."

Taekwoon nodded, clambering somewhat awkwardly to his feet and sliding back into his seat at the table between Wonsik and Jaehwan. Wonsik caught Jaehwan squeezing Taekwoon's hand under the table, and allowed himself a small smile before pouring Taekwoon another cup of wine.

"You wouldn't know this now, but when Wonsik was young he loved the bustle and the noise, and he would have the loudest celebrations," Wonsik's father said. "He and his friends would make such a racket running about, and there would always be music—where are they now, Wonsik? What was his name, General Lee's son?"

"Taemin, father. He's been posted to the east, and Jongin to the north east," Wonsik said.

"Ah yes, those two. They'll both make fine generals one day," Wonsik's father said with a nod. 

"But Wonsik's Father, we _do_ know that Wonsik likes commotion," Jaehwan said, grinning from ear to ear. "Every time we go to the music houses or to the inns, there's no one who's louder enjoying himself."

" _Jaehwan_ ," Wonsik groaned. "Father, that's not true—"

"It's true, it's Jaehwan who's the loudest," Taekwoon suddenly said.

"That is _not_ true," Jaehwan said, glowering at both his friends. All three of Taekwoon, Wonsik, and his father laughed, and Jaehwan frowned harder.

"My son is lucky to have you two as friends," Wonsik's father said. He got to his feet and Wonsik hastened to stand as well, but was waved down by his father.

"This old man will be off to rest, you three enjoy yourselves," he said. 

"Thank you, father," Wonsik said. "Rest well."

"Did you hear that," Jaehwan said, once they'd heard the door close behind Wonsik's father. "He said you're lucky to have us as friends."

"I know, I am," Wonsik said, beaming at them both. "I'm beyond lucky."

"See Taekwoonie, I _told_ you, Wonsik would love it," Jaehwan said, causing the flush to rise back to Taekwoon's cheeks.

"Don't call me that," Taekwoon said, smacking Jaehwan on the shoulder.

Wonsik swallowed the urge to coo at them and settled for laughing instead. "You _were_ wonderful, Taekwoon. Thank you."

"It's nothing," Taekwoon said, ducking his head again.

What a change a year could make. Jaehwan had been loud and Jaehwan was still loud, but if one had told Wonsik a year ago that Taekwoon would be leaning against a loud Jaehwan who quieted for him, Wonsik would have told them they'd gone absolutely daft. Wonsik felt oddly sad that Taekwoon no longer clung to him, which was a strange thought in itself because Taekwoon could be overly clingy at times, but perhaps that too was a sign of changing times.

As every year, the moon was a perfect crescent, five days before the new year. It couldn't be seen from this hall, shielded from the outside cold on all sides as it was, but Wonsik had glimpsed it earlier, and it made him smile in its familiarity. The new year would be upon them soon, and Wonsik was determined to make it a good one.

"What are you thinking about?" Taekwoon's voice jarred Wonsik out of his own mind.

"Not much," Wonsik said truthfully. "The two of you look good together."

"Don't we?" Jaehwan preened. Taekwoon was spending a lot of time tonight being extremely pink, and Wonsik almost felt sorry for him if it weren't so endearing.

"And to think Taekwoon thought you wouldn't approve and we had to keep it a secret from you for _so_ long," Jaehwan said. This earned him another smack from Taekwoon. 

"I didn't say that," Taekwoon said. "I just said... not yet."

"No, you said 'don't tell Wonsik'—do you know, he said that right after the first time we—"

" _No_ ," Taekwoon and Wonsik said in unison, only while Wonsik covered his face, Taekwoon covered Jaehwan's mouth. 

"Ugh, neither of you are any fun," Jaehwan said. Taekwoon wiped his hand off on Jaehwan's sleeve, glowering at him. 

Wonsik laughed and gestured at the wine.

"To another year of Wonsik being alive," Jaehwan said, raising his cup to Wonsik.

"What sort of toast is that?" Wonsik asked.

"An honest one," Jaehwan said. 

"He's right," Taekwoon said, a small shrug as he raised his cup as well. Wonsik shook his head in exasperation at the two of them—the two of _Taekwoon and Jaehwan_ —teaming up against him, but accepted their toasts and they all drank. It was good wine, and it warmed Wonsik up from the inside.

"Another year," Wonsik said after a moment. Taekwoon was leaning against Jaehwan again, a drowsy smile of contentment softly curling his lips. "You're both older than me."

"And what do you mean by that?" Jaehwan asked.

"Nothing, nothing. Just a comment."

Wonsik had grown so used to the scar on Taekwoon's face that he'd ceased to notice it—had all but forgotten it until his father had inquired. Taekwoon had stumbled over his words as he explained it was an accident, until Jaehwan had stepped in and smoothly deflected Wonsik's father's question with a comment about how Wonsik's father seemed even younger than the last time Jaehwan had seen him. The Jaehwan a year past may have simply watched in amusement as Taekwoon struggled.

And that scar. Before this year, there had been no Hakyeon. No, that wasn't quite right—there had been Hakyeon, only Wonsik hadn't known it was Hakyeon, even if Hakyeon had known it was him. A strange thought. It was jealousy, Wonsik admitted to himself, watching his two friends. All of them had lived through two cycles of the twelve years, but compared to the two of them, Wonsik suddenly felt adrift, purposeless.

" _Even old eyes must lose sleep to see in the New Year, and old hearts are touched to greet another spring. Once the dawn comes after the lamps have been exhausted, we’ve grown even older than old as we were._ " Wonsik recited, almost under his breath. He held up his cup of wine in an ironic toast before sipping at it. 

"We're not _that_ old," Jaehwan said, narrowing his eyes.

"No," Wonsik agreed, "but we're getting there."

"Yes, look at my long, white beard," Jaehwan said. He mimed stroking one, and Taekwoon burst out laughing, burying his head against the table. Wonsik was torn between telling Jaehwan it wasn't that funny, but it _was_ and Wonsik laughed as well.

"Ah, poetry, the language of intellectual scholars and old men," Jaehwan said. "You will make a fine scholar one day, Young Master Kim Wonsik."

"But not a poet," Taekwoon cut in.

"It's not that bad," Wonsik protested.

"Not that bad? Even that thief's riddle poem was better than yours," Taekwoon said.

"That's because that was _good_ ," Wonsik said. His heart leapt a beat. Hakyeon. He'd never been good at hiding his emotions.

Unexpectedly, Jaehwan cackled at Wonsik. "Oh, don't tell me you're still hung up on him," he said.

"What? No!"

"Do you _miss_ him?" Jaehwan asked.

_Yes_ , Wonsik thought miserably to himself. Tonight would have been perfect, if Hakyeon had been here. 

"Of course not," Wonsik said, masking his thoughts with mock affront. Hakyeon would have been proud. 

It was a night of laughter and good food and good wine, of extra sweets that Wonsik had asked someone to bring to ply Taekwoon with, to get him to play again. There was music the likes of which had not filled these rooms for some time, and as Wonsik returned with the tray of sweets, the moon was high and silver, and Jaehwan was leaning against Taekwoon and they waved Wonsik to hurry over. Next year, Wonsik decided. Next year he would make it a perfect night.

It was a night of laughter and a night of youth, a night before the moon and the year would begin anew. In this, like in all things, it was a night that would come and be and then pass, be left behind as a cherished memory more precious than a jewel, a memory shared between the three of them. 

For even as they share the night and as the moon continues to fall so that it can rise again in the morning, white and slender against the blue of the sky, time continues to flow, as it has been flowing, as it will always flow. It is an endless river carrying with it things that men, swept along in its currents, do not, can not, or will not see, things that men cannot know.

Such as how Wonsik does not know that the promised snow will fall the night before the new year and it will be difficult to travel for some days after. Nor does he know that the cat has not frequented Taekwoon's door for some days, and that Taekwoon is worried. He can't know that his moment of hesitation when his friends had spoken again of the thief would be a spark that will drive along what was perhaps fated, for he does not know that even as they surround themselves with laughter and music, Hakyeon has already steeled his heart for this one last job that he takes because of a moment in Wonsik's life that he has not forgotten, but has pushed far back in his mind for it is only a memory, a moment of the past. One of the swallows that nest under the roof of the candy seller will no longer fly, and its mate will follow soon in loss—no one will know, for two more swallows will take their place, bonded together for life.

There are many things that Wonsik does not know, just as there are many things that Jaehwan does not know, that Taekwoon does not know, that Hakyeon does not know. That the lines between life and stories often blur, or how to read the position of the stars and the sun, or exactly how long a candle will burn. How to describe the sweetness of a grape, the beauty of a butterfly. Just as Jaehwan does not know the properties of the caterpillar looking plant he finds creepy, or that Taekwoon does not know the name of the poet who wrote a song about flowers on a mountain, about spring heralded by the east wind. That they will wish to turn back time to this very moment, even knowing that time flows only forward.

For how can men know the things that even the Heavens do not? 

And as such, they are carried by the currents, boats bumping along and aside, unknowing and fearless.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

  

  

  

  

"Do you know how much of a mess the palace is right now?" Jaehwan’s sleeves swung as he shook out his arms, his words followed by a dramatic sigh.

"Yes," Taekwoon said absentmindedly, watching a rabbit take form from clear candy under the skilled hands of the candy maker, and then a dragonfly in a dark blue. They stood behind a crowd of children, none of them having any trouble seeing over their heads.

"Do you want some coins to buy one too?" Wonsik asked Taekwoon. A young boy and girl had finally wheedled enough money from their mother to buy the rabbit. Taekwoon turned to glower at them both when Jaehwan cackled, before resolutely stalking off.

"You’ve only told us three times already," Wonsik said to Jaehwan as they followed Taekwoon through the crowd.

The streets were awash with people, the day before the eve of the new year. Paper lanterns hung from the eaves of roofs, colourful fishes of whites and oranges, round lanterns in bright red, and as many shapes and colours as one could imagine. They had been hung throughout Wonsik’s own manor as well, and come nightfall, they would chase away the darkness in their brilliance. There was still no sign of the snow that would come, the sky clear and the sun bright and warming the morning.

The three of them were not alone in taking advantage of the warm day, and the street side stalls were all doing brisk business despite the season.

"Is it alright for you to be out here?" Wonsik asked.

Jaehwan shrugged. "It’s really Father who has the biggest headache, but my brother the Crown Prince and all those eunuchs and ministers running around—drives a man damn crazy."

"I can imagine," Wonsik said with a chuckle. "Even without any year end gifts and boons to bestow, it’s noisy enough to make me want to get out."

"See! You too," Jaehwan said.

It was easy to catch up to Taekwoon when he’d stopped at a steamed bun seller, his mouth stuffed with one, another in his hands.

"You’re eating _again_?" Jaehwan said, but he had no qualms taking the bun that Taekwoon handed him.

"What, none for me?" Wonsik raised his eyebrows at Taekwoon.

"Buy your own," Taekwoon said.

" _How quickly turn the seasons, love falling over friendship_ ," Wonsik muttered, handing over a coin to the seller and cupping the hot bun in his hands. Taekwoon choked and Jaehwan slapped his back as Wonsik looked on in alarm.

"You said _love_ ," Jaehwan whispered conspiratorially at Wonsik.

"Oh. I see."

"Shut up," Taekwoon grumbled, his face red from more than just the cold.

"As you wish, Young Master," Jaehwan said, bowing to Taekwoon.

"Come on, let’s find an inn and go inside," Wonsik said. "Warm up a bit." If Wonsik had thought he’d no longer need to intervene between those two now that they were on… friendlier terms, he’d found over the past few weeks that he’d been sorely wrong.

"Ok!" Jaehwan chirped. He shoved the rest of his bun into his mouth, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. There was still a piece of food at the corner of his mouth; Taekwoon sighed and wiped at it with his thumb.

"Like a child," Taekwoon muttered. Jaehwan pouted, as if to prove Taekwoon’s point.

"You’re so cute," Wonsik said. He couldn't help himself. Jaehwan posed for Wonsik, eyes crinkling, while Taekwoon continued on his quest to see how many times he could turn bright pink in a day.

"Let’s go, I’m cold," Taekwoon said. Both Jaehwan and Wonsik hastened to follow, sharing fond looks.

"Are you gonna come back to my place with me later?" Jaehwan asked Wonsik. Wonsik swallowed and then nodded. Jaehwan hummed. "It has been a while."

"Yeah," Wonsik said. He glanced ahead of them, sure that Taekwoon was well out of hearing. "How’s he doing?"

"Just fine," Jaehwan said, waving his hand. "Looks like you’re not as needed as you thought you were."

" _Jaehwan_ ," Wonsik whined to the prince’s laughter.

"What’s so funny?" Taekwoon asked, glancing over his shoulder. He’d slowed and was just ahead of them—Wonsik said a quick silent thanks that Taekwoon hadn’t heard. He didn’t know why he was so set on keeping Hakyeon a secret from Taekwoon, but Jaehwan seemed to have formed his own reasons, at least.

"Wonsik’s an idiot," Jaehwan said. He stopped suddenly, craning his neck backwards to look over his shoulder. "Hang on, go ahead without me, there’s a place just at the corner of this street, I’ll meet you there."

"Jaehwan?" Taekwoon frowned at him, but Jaehwan just flapped his hand at them in a shooing motion. 

"Sure," Wonsik said easily. Jaehwan had already disappeared back into the crowd. "Let’s go, Taekwoon. If Jaehwan wants to chill himself for a bit longer, doesn’t mean we have to."

Taekwoon nodded, and they continued on their way in companionable silence, neither of them having Jaehwan’s need to have constant conversation. They did pause at a stall selling embroidered charms, and Taekwoon bought one without a word, stuffing it into a pocket inside of his cloak. Wonsik marked the stall in his mind—he’d come back later, when Taekwoon wasn’t around to ask questions. Children were everywhere, laughing as they played in the noise and the bustle, and young people jostled their friends as the three of them had been doing. It was enough of a commotion already, that it took Wonsik several moments too long to recognise that the shrill scream was trouble.

He glanced at Taekwoon and Taekwoon nodded. They pushed their way through the crowd—only hastening when Wonsik saw the woman sobbing on the ground was saying "he’s dead, he’s dead," over and over again. 

"Let us through," Wonsik ordered, and the people parted for them, Wonsik running through the small cleared space.

"Where? Who?" he asked, crouching down. She shook her head, only pointed behind her at a still open door, sobbing harder. Wonsik glanced at her, and then the door—Taekwoon followed Wonsik’s small gesture, darting through the door, bright red pillars on either side. Pleasant decorations, elegance, low tables and fragrances—a pleasure house, a well to do one. Wonsik and Taekwoon shared a quick look before they both dashed up the stairs. Only one door was open, and a small crowd of people had gathered about it, in varying states of shock. 

"Let us through," Taekwoon said, his quiet voice cutting through and parting their path no less effectively than Wonsik’s words had.

A moment’s glance when they stepped through that doorway would be enough to sear the image into Wonsik’s memory for the rest of his life.

A boy, a young man, hung from the ceiling, a silk sash about his neck. His face was pale, his robes casual but fine, and he was beautiful. A stool had been kicked over under him. A low table, spilled cups of tea. A large room, well decorated. Elaborate ornaments and jewels at the table, a fine mirror, edged with sandalwood. A favoured courtesan. 

How was it that a face could change so little in ten years?

Wonsik choked, gasped for air, his throat tightening. His legs were weak and he staggered forward with unsteady steps. It was through a haze that he heard Taekwoon yell at someone to cut him down, in a haze that the boy, the young man, the same age as Wonsik, who had been the same age as Wonsik, was lowered to the ground, only a few paces away from Wonsik. He couldn’t _breathe_ his chest crushing in on itself. Wonsik didn’t know when he’d collapsed, only knew that he’d fallen to his knees, his arms shaky and barely holding him up. His hair fell down to his shoulders, feathering about his chin. His eyes were closed, but it wasn’t in peace. His cheekbones were sharp, his jawline firm, and that mouth had once opened almost terrifyingly wide in laughter, his cheeks dimpling. Wonsik willed himself forward, his skin suddenly numb and on fire all at once, his lungs refusing to breathe, his heart beating so quickly the rush of blood filled his ears.

"Wonsik, _Wonsik_." Taekwoon. His hands on Wonsik’s shoulders. Wonsik shook him off, had to crawl forward. His hand was cold when Wonsik gripped it, but warmth still lingered when Wonsik fell on top of his body, clutching at him, willing for any sign that he still _lived_ , some desperate, useless hope.

"No, no, you can’t, you _can’t_ leave like this," Wonsik cried. His tears wet the boy’s clothes, hot, so hot, yet it would never be enough to bring life back to that still body. "How can you leave me, Gods, please, _please_ don’t let this be real. I can’t, I can’t do this, I can’t."

"Wonsik." Taekwoon, again. His hands on Wonsik’s shoulders again. Running down his back, again, and again, and again. His hand reaching past Wonsik, his fingers lingering against the boy’s neck—only he was no longer a boy, but how could Wonsik remember him as anything but a boy?

"A few minutes," Taekwoon was saying, and his words were soft and numb and foggy. A few minutes. Minutes.

Wonsik closed his eyes, swallowed, but his voice was rough and thick and hoarse.

"Proprietor," he choked out. "Please, Taekwoon, please."

Minutes. How could a person disappear so quickly? Minutes.

How many minutes passed, or was it seconds, that Taekwoon had returned. There were guards now. The loud voice of the proprietor, insisting that he be unhanded, his was a reputable establishment, wasn’t it clear what had happened? Clearly, he’d been hysterical and slighted and had killed himself in a fit of a broken heart, some suitor or other deeming his services no longer necessary, it happened, you know these types.

"How do you know?" Taekwoon asked, and Wonsik grabbed onto his voice with all the desperation of a man searching for an anchor in a darkness that yielded nothing but desolation, a thread of thought weaving its way through the haze of Wonsik’s mind. Wonsik forced himself upright, forced himself to look down, to look at his face.

"He was murdered," Wonsik said. "Killed."

"Yes," Taekwoon said softly and he gathered Wonsik into his arms, and Wonsik let him, let Taekwoon tug him so Wonsik fell against his chest.

"Poison in the cup, pink residue." Wonsik reached out to touch the boy’s neck, the silk thin line obscured by the bruising from the sash. The sash was a pale pink, almost transparent, soft and light against Wonsik's skin—it did not look like it could kill. It was as if there was a rope about his own neck, choking. Wonsik grasped for breath within himself, had to force the words out. "Killed."

"Proprietor?"

Some part of Wonsik knew what Taekwoon was doing, that this was the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces in this room, the room that this boy had lived in until minutes ago. 

"Two cups. Knocked over in the struggle. Heard someone coming, didn’t have time to finish cleaning up, was careless. Stool too short." Wonsik took a breath, knowing that this wasn’t new, knowing that this happened all over the city, that this had happened before, and would happen again. Knew that this wasn’t the first time he’d seen something similar. "He’d tired of him, he was getting old, but how do you get rid of someone who people know, who people see every day—isn’t it an easy reason? Maybe he’d found another pretty boy, young. Look at the things in this room, he wasn’t just another courtesan, a special one, a favourite. Maybe he was the one who was slighted."

A moment’s glance. An image seared into his mind for the rest of his life.

Taekwoon held him tighter, and tighter, and Wonsik couldn’t stop the tears, barely realised he was crying. He wanted to hold his hand, wanted to warm it, wanted to bring life back to it, to let blood flow again through the veins but time flowed only forward and a life was something lived only once, in this world, this time.

Another voice, familiar—Jaehwan, oh _Jaehwan_.

Jaehwan whose mind worked fast, Jaehwan whose words sometimes came even faster, Jaehwan who uttered a single word that breathed reality into the truth in front of Wonsik’s eyes, the truth that was blurred through tears.

"Hongbin."

Almost ten years, and if this was how Wonsik was to find him—if he lived and Wonsik had never seen him again, if he _lived_ —

He was passed to Jaehwan and Wonsik let this happen, let Jaehwan crush him to his chest, let his own tears soak through Jaehwan’s clothes again, because it didn’t matter where he looked, he saw only that face that had changed so little in ten years. Taekwoon was speaking to people, the room was cleared, and it was only him, Jaehwan, and the empty shell that had held Hongbin. Too pretty—his face had been too pretty, and that had killed him. 

_It’s not fair. The world isn’t fair._ Who’d said that—Taekwoon, it had been Taekwoon.

Taekwoon who’d returned, Taekwoon who’d brought with him a blanket, who was about to draw it over him like he’d done so many times before, but never before had Wonsik grabbed Taekwoon’s wrist, begged him not to with words that Wonsik could barely form.

"Not yet," Wonsik said, without hearing his own words, "not yet." And so Taekwoon nodded, left the blanket pulled up just past his shoulders, as if he were merely asleep.

Time flows only forward, the currents of a river swirling on, but not all things are swept along with it. It is a truth as firm as the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, as the waxing and waning of the moon, as the truth that all things that live will one day die, the truth that winter will follow summer and spring will follow when winter melts away, that the sun will always rise in the morning, no matter what has happened in the night.

And it is a truth that tears are not endless, that such words are only the words of a poet unable to describe his own grief and sorrow, and even Wonsik’s tears eventually slow, his sobs quiet. His voice is hoarse when he lifts his face from Jaehwan’s chest, when he wipes at his eyes, his cheeks, takes the handkerchief that Taekwoon hands him and tries to wipe his face clean, only for more tears to replace the ones that have been willed away. 

"He’ll come home with me," Wonsik says, and it’s a miracle he can say anything. He will need to drink much tea and water to replace what the tears have taken from him, and will continue to take. He looks down at his friend, the one he couldn’t find for ten years; the one who he had, in his deepest of hearts, given up on finding; the one who the Heavens had brought to him instead.

"Jaehwan will take over this place," Wonsik continues saying, and he pulls these words from somewhere inside of himself, even knowing as he says these things that he has saddled a royal prince with a responsibility he has never agreed to. He dictates instructions, without wondering who is listening. That those who wish to return to families or homes should be given enough money to do so. That those who wish could come and serve the Kim household, and Jaehwan says softly that there is him, as well. That there are enough pleasure houses in the city who are unlikely to turn away experienced courtesans, if there are those who so desire.

He stands, eventually, lets go of Hongbin’s long cold hands. He nods to Taekwoon who draws the blanket over his face. He lets Jaehwan help him down the stairs, even if he is steady enough to walk himself.

There are things that Wonsik must do, and there are things that those around him need to do. It is a curious thing, the helplessness of a friend who finds themselves unable to help with what is most important and can only watch and do the things they can do, helpful or not. Pain is not a thing that can be born alone, and it is in this way that jagged shards of an unnameable feeling dig into Taekwoon’s and Jaehwan’s chests as well.

Wonsik shakes his head when Jaehwan says he’ll send for a carriage. He needs the walk. Taekwoon needs to be the one to bring Hongbin with them, pulling the plain wooden cart himself. People part for them, and Wonsik has gathered his pieces and assembled them into a facsimile of himself, and his face is cold and impassive as he strides forward. Those who had not seen him moments earlier would never have known the grief that hides inside him, within which a seed of anger is beginning to grow. They think his face is red from the cold, and people don’t notice and certainly don’t remember that his eyes are rimmed with red. For it is another truth that we are only the heroes in our own stories, and quickly dismiss the things that fail to cut into our own lives.

The walk seems endless yet passes in a single, blank moment. The gates of Wonsik’s home open for him, and his father stands there. Jaehwan had sent word ahead, although this, Wonsik doesn’t know.

He only knows that under the blanket beside him lies a friend that, until this day, he hasn’t seen in almost ten years.

"I found Hongbin."

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The funeral is a quiet affair.

It’s organised quickly and it’s mere hours later that Wonsik finds himself kneeling by the casket, tears streaming silently down his face. It helps that their family carries a lineage that’s held significance for generations; three imperial concubines, a high general, and once, an Emperor’s advisor. And then there’s Jaehwan who’s the son of the Emperor, and a favoured son even if he’s the Eleventh Prince, and imperial favour is currency not easily earned.

The sky is still clear, the sun still bright. Morning becomes noon, and afternoon must follow. There are few mourners. Wonsik’s father remains nearly absent, except to pay his respects to a street urchin turned prostitute, and that itself has a significance that Wonsik is too numb at the moment to grasp. Prayers are said for Hongbin’s soul, and Taekwoon and Jaehwan pay the most formal respects to him as they can. The appropriate incense is burned, the appropriate words are said. There is no one there but Wonsik who knew the deceased, before they were the deceased.

Hongbin dies in the morning, and is buried before the sun falls. 

"You should sleep," Taekwoon says. They’ve returned from Hongbin’s grave—near enough to Wonsik’s own family, but far enough to be appropriate. It took some time for Taekwoon to pull Wonsik away, and only because the sun had set, and Jaehwan had had to return to the palace. An Emperor’s son has his duties.

"I can’t," Wonsik says. His voice is still hoarse, and he leans against Taekwoon, Taekwoon’s arm about Wonsik’s waist. It’s a winter night but still they sit outside, a brazier set beside them as they sit on the steps. "Every time I close my eyes I see him."

Taekwoon hands Wonsik another cup of tea, and refills it once Wonsik drinks it under Taekwoon’s watchful eye. It was a calming tea, Taekwoon had explained, but Wonsik suspects it’s to make him sleep as well. He doesn’t, however, say this. 

"Is that a bad thing?" Taekwoon asks.

"I don’t know," Wonsik admits. He exhales, a shaky breath. "I can see the scene exactly, except Hongbin looks like I remember him. I can’t think of him as anything but fifteen."

"I…" Taekwoon mimics Wonsik, exhales, a shaky breath. "Sometimes I dream of her. She’s eighteen, and it’s spring, and there’s flowers. She’s smiling." He pauses. "She’d be over thirty. Is, over thirty. I wonder if I’d even recognise her."

"Look at us, sitting here the day before the eve of the new year, talking like this," Wonsik says with a soft laugh. The day before the eve. It was why everything had been done so quickly—it was better, the priests had decided, to let his soul rest before the end of the year, instead of carrying death over to the next. 

"He probably wanted to… to do it before the new year as well," Taekwoon says, and there’s no question in either of their minds of who Taekwoon means, and what had been done. Even so, it’s hard to say such things aloud.

Taekwoon makes Wonsik drink another cup of tea, and Wonsik does. It’s the least he can do for Taekwoon.

"Was this because of our fate, was it ordained? Why did it happen just as we passed by?" Wonsik holds the cup in his hand, stares down into it. It’s empty, but a sheen of tea still glistens on the bottom. 

There’s silence for long moments, minutes. No sound, not even that of the wind. No leaves to rustle, no birds that sing. It’s late night and dark, and the entire household is asleep except for the two of them. The only lanterns that are lit are those in Wonsik’s room; the ones hung from the roofs remain dark. Another thing that holds significance that Wonsik can’t yet grasp, because this was not a death in the household, not a death in the family. There’s nothing that needs to be observed in mourning, no need to silence celebrations. 

"I think it was Heaven’s way of granting a wish that couldn’t otherwise be granted." Taekwoon places his hand over Wonsik’s—both their hands are cold. "If this was a thing that would happen, and it was a thing no one could stop, then at least… at least you could be granted peace. Closure. To see him one last time before he disappeared forever. To do for him what you did today."

"I could’ve, if I’d thought—where else would a boy like Hongbin disappear to? If. If I frequented the music houses, the pleasure houses more often. Different ones." The tears well unbidden in Wonsik’s eyes and he sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, an attempt to will them back. He’d stopped crying—he’s afraid that if he starts again, he won’t be able to stop again.

"You were young," Taekwoon reminds him. "How could you have known or thought of it?"

"If I’d kept thinking, if I’d kept looking—"

"Wonsik." Taekwoon’s voice is firm, and he sits away from Wonsik to stare him in the eye. It’s dark outside, but what light there is glints in Taekwoon’s eyes, and it’s enough to remind Wonsik that there is a scar that marks his friend’s face, that runs over one eye. It’s enough to remind Wonsik of Hakyeon, and he bites his lip hard to will blood, but blood doesn’t come.

"It’s not your fault, Wonsik. It’s _not_. You did everything you could do. It’s _not your fault_. You didn’t kill him, that monster did. Remember him, mourn him, grieve for him, cry for him—but don’t blame yourself. Please, Wonsik. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for him. He wouldn’t want—"

"You don’t know what he’d want!" Wonsik shouts. He regrets it, regrets breaking through Taekwoon’s quiet words, insistent. "You don’t know what he’d want," Wonsik repeats, softer this time. "We can’t know, because he’s _dead_."

"I know," Taekwoon says, and there’s a shakiness in his voice that Wonsik regrets as well, even if he doesn’t know what that regret is. 

"It isn’t easy. To lose someone twice." Taekwoon places his hand on Wonsik’s back again, rubbing circles as Wonsik wipes away his tears. "Sometimes people hurt when they want to help—maybe the Heavens are like that too. I don’t think that they ever mean to be cruel."

"No," Wonsik says, "but the world isn’t fair. As long as there are people, it won’t be fair. People are cruel—I think we know that more than anyone."

"But people are also kind," Taekwoon says. "While… While we were at the pleasure house, I spoke to some people. There was an old servant. She’d been there for over thirty years. She said… She said that Hongbin was a good boy. That he was older than most of the boys when he was bought, that they thought he was twelve, already old, that it was only later they found he was fifteen."

"He was thin, then," Wonsik says. "Thin and small. I don’t think he ever ate enough."

"Mm. She also said…" Taekwoon takes another breath, closes his eyes. "At first, the owner rarely let him be with the guests. He liked him for himself during the nights. But it wasn’t all bad, because he was treated well. A favourite, like you said. He had a sharp wit and a sharp tongue, but a smile that rarely got him into trouble. He had an ear for music and deft fingers, and played well at the zither although he couldn’t do much else."

"Like you," Wonsik says with another small laugh. Sometimes, laughter was the only way to deal with tears, although this is something Wonsik has yet to learn.

"I can do a lot of things," Taekwoon protests, and Wonsik laughs again.

"What else?" Wonsik asks.

"He liked fruit, and especially grapes, and she'd always save some for him. He was popular enough, and she couldn’t understand why he would have killed him. That… that he could be awkward around some of the girls, especially the newer ones, but still tried to treat them as kindly as he could, and was never impatient with them. And…" Taekwoon takes a breath, lets out a breath, shakes his head. "I’m sorry, that’s all I know."

"It’s more than I knew," Wonsik says. "All these things that other people knew."

"But you know things that others don’t," Taekwoon says. He pushes another cup of tea into Wonsik’s hands, and Wonsik wonders when he’d refilled it. He drinks it anyway. 

"I wish I knew his family," Wonsik says. "I wish I’d insisted, but he didn’t want to. I wish… I wish I knew if they sold him, or if someone kidnapped him and sold him. I dunno, I wish I knew more about him. He’s the one who taught me how to use a slingshot."

"He didn’t do a very good job," Taekwoon says. Wonsik laughs again.

"I don’t think that was him," Wonsik says. "The bad job was all on me." He was growing drowsy, and he knew he was right about what Taekwoon had put in the tea. Even so, he drinks another cup, and then another. 

"I want to kill him. In that moment, I wanted to kill him," Wonsik says.

Taekwoon only hums a little, nods.

"Walking back, all I could think about was how much I wanted to kill him. I’d poison him and strangle him and kill him—but that’d make me little better than him."

"Maybe," Taekwoon says slowly, "that’s something that can’t be judged within the law."

"Is it?"

"I don’t know." And then: "you should sleep."

"I know," Wonsik says.

"Alright."

There’s no moon tonight. It’s too close to the new year for there to be any moon. There’s stars, but the stars shed little light on the earth below even if the are brilliant in the night sky. Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe it’s a good night for darkness.

"I met Hongbin the day of my grandmother’s funeral," Wonsik says. There are memories here, memories that Wonsik himself has almost forgotten, memories that have been warped through the years and that he digs out with effort.

"I was six or seven, and my sister was holding our mother’s hand. The smoke from all the burning—I remember that. It made me cry." A faint prickling of memory, of a feeling at the back of his neck, driving him away, pulling him forward.

"I remember being scared and I ran out of the manor before anyone could stop me. I remember Hongbin laughing at me, but it didn’t make me angry, and I don’t remember what else happened. It was night before I returned home. I thought they would, but my parents didn’t yell at me, didn’t even scold me or chastise me for not being filial. That was the first time I lost someone. But it’s also the time I met someone for the first time."

"The world works in ways we can’t understand," Taekwoon says. "Maybe… Maybe it was her last gift to you."

The words tire Wonsik, and it's as if Taekwoon knows it. He doesn't push more tea into Wonsik's hands, only holds him like one might comfort a child, even if Wonsik has long since stopped being a child.

Instead, Wonsik closes his eyes against the darkness.

"And it will continue working, even if we wish it would stop."

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

Wonsik sleeps. The sun rises and the sun sets; a year ends, a year begins. Taekwoon leaves in the morning. Wonsik asks him to see in the new year with him and his father, but Taekwoon has his own vigils to keep. The lanterns are lit because: 'Hongbin wouldn’t have minded', and Wonsik is aware of the irony in his own words even as he says them. The snow begins to fall in the afternoon, heavy, relentless flakes that swiftly bury the world in white. Wonsik can’t decide if it’s the purity of the new year, or a strange sign of mourning. It isn’t important.

The snow continues to fall, and time passes from one year to the next, while Wonsik and his father watch through the change with wine in their cups, and muted conversation under the clouded sky. The first cup, his father pours for Wonsik. A significance. 

It was thus that Wonsik slept for the first time in the new year, his heart still heavy, the sky dark and starless, the snow glistening with colour as it cloaked the world with its presence. He didn’t dream as he’d feared he’d dream, his sleep as dark and empty as the sky. If it weren’t for the sudden burst of cold air as the window opened, Wonsik would’ve slept through to dawn. Hakyeon may have been a light sleeper, but Wonsik was anything but.

"This is a dream." Wonsik spoke those words aloud, blinking at the shadow in the darkness.

"No dream, my love," Hakyeon said. He knelt by Wonsik's bed, his elbows resting near Wonsik's head.

"Hakyeon?"

"The one and only," Hakyeon said. 

Wonsik began to sit up, and then he rolled onto his side, grabbed one of Hakyeon's hands. It was cold. 

"Why are you here? _How_ are you here?"

"The answer to the first should be obvious," Hakyeon said. "To see you, of course."

"Yes, but—"

"Shh, the second isn't important. Shall we say that I'm here to greet you for the New Year?" Hakyeon laced their fingers together, and his hand was slowly warming.

Even in the darkness, Wonsik could see that Hakyeon was dressed in all black, the same black that he'd worn the first time Wonsik had seen him. He hadn't known it was Hakyeon at the time.

"You didn't come to me, so I came to you. I seem to do that all the time, don't I," Hakyeon said. And then: "I heard about Hongbin."

"Ah." Wonsik closed his eyes. "Jaehwan told you. Did he send you?"

"If he did, do you think I'd be dressed like this?" Hakyeon asked.

"Nothing you do would surprise me anymore," Wonsik said. It wasn't a dream, but the sleep that hazed over his mind insistently tried to convince him otherwise. That the past two days themselves had been a dream. He reached for Hakyeon's other hand and found it cold. Wonsik took a rough breath—they hadn't been a dream. 

"You're cold," Wonsik said.

"It is snowing outside," Hakyeon said. He paused, smoothing his thumb against Wonsik's skin. "I wish I could have worn your cloak. It's very warm."

Wonsik lifted up a corner of the blanket and tugged at Hakyeon's hand. "Come in."

"If you wish," Hakyeon said. Wonsik wasn't particularly expecting it, but he watched Hakyeon strip down to only an inner layer before crawling under the blankets. It made sense—it was snowing, his clothes would have been wet with the snow. Wonsik shivered at the touch, but in the next moment, there were strong arms about him, holding him.

"I've missed you," Wonsik said, pressing his face into Hakyeon's shoulder. "I miss you."

"I know," Hakyeon said. His words brushed through Wonsik's hair. It was enough. 

There were times in one's life, when the only thing left to do was cry.

Great shuddering sobs muffled against the person he'd found himself hopelessly in love with, the person who'd unknowingly and unwittingly filled every space of Wonsik's heart and who now held him as Wonsik's tears soaked through his clothes. He cried in such a way that had he not pressed his face against Hakyeon, it was a sound that would have reverberated through the room, beyond the windows. The sort of crying that tore his throat, that ripped its way into the world in anguish, that hurt like the hurt it were born from. His fingers dug into Hakyeon's back, and it was the sort of crying that stole the breath from his lungs until he was gasping for breath, even as the breath was dragged out of him in jagged sounds, raw and hoarse. His chest hurt, it ached, and through it all was a feeling he barely identified as grief piercing through his heart, twisting and jerking like the hook of a fisherman's rod, an embedded arrowhead—impossible to remove without wrenching away flesh and skin, without catching on bone, without leaving scars that could never heal.

He cried, and it was not the way he had cried clutching at Hongbin's dead body, nor the way he had cried as he'd been buried, nor the way he had cried as Taekwoon and Jaehwan took turns sitting by him, against him. It was loud and desperate and hopeless, because it was the sort of crying that was the only thing left to him to do. When all was said and done, when the past would remain in the past, when the only thing that could be done was live with the emptiness and search uselessly for the proof that those years had existed when those years were even longer past.

They were the tears that had been buried within him for some ten years, finally allowed to take form, to be given voice, and with them came the tears that had been left over from the year before those ten years, when he had first truly understood loss. Tears of regret, of misplaced guilt, of anger and grief and something that might have been named sorrow, if such a word was enough to encapsulate the pain which ate at his bones and pierced through his skin. 

He cried for a boy who he had known for less time than he had been gone, for a boy who he had already given up for lost even before he'd been truly lost. He cried for a boy with a smile he could still remember, an image frozen in time, a smattering of words, a voice he'd forgotten. A voice that would have changed into a voice he didn't know. For the days they'd spent together, the memories that were now his alone to treasure, but that he would slowly lose piece by piece. He cried for the days and years that would come, the ones where he would lose even those images minute by week by day, until the only thing left would be the one of Hongbin hanging from the rafters with a rope about his neck, and he would not be smiling. 

And he cried for himself. For the boy he had been, for the hope he'd once had, for the hope that had faded and disappeared but he'd refused to believe had disappeared. He cried for the loss of youth, for the loss of an illusion, for the loss of time. For the knowledge that as much as he had lost, there would be more to come because there was nothing in this world that was timeless, that was endless, that would last a forever that was truly forever. For the question if he was allowed to cry for losing something he'd never had, for the question if it was possible to lose something he'd never had.

He cried until he thought there were no tears left, until his throat was raw and painful, and he looked up and tried to laugh, wipe away the proof of the past minutes, and then he cried again, and again, and again.

It was a dark night. There was no moon. There were no stars. Falling snow muffled sound. Fallen snow deadened the world. Lanterns lit against the night were curtained and hidden, and the darkness of the night enveloped the room. 

He cried until he thought he could breathe, until he could breathe, until he finally, finally, finally could look up and try a smile and apologise for making a mess and being gross.

"Cry, my dearest love, if you need to cry, then cry."

Words that twisted at Wonsik's heart not for himself, but for the pain in Hakyeon's own voice, pain that he had caused, because of a boy that Hakyeon had never known.

"I don't know if I can cry," Wonsik said, and it was a laughable thought, and so Wonsik laughed.

"Then don't," Hakyeon said, and his hands were no longer cold as he brushed his thumb against Wonsik's cheek, as he pushed aside the hair that had fallen over Wonsik's eyes and were now wet with tears.

"It was my birthday," Wonsik said, because it seemed an important thought. Another important thought: "Taekwoon plays the zither. Hongbin played the zither. I didn't know."

"We can never know everything about a person," Hakyeon said.

"I don't think I knew him at all."

"If you didn't, you wouldn't care for him like this."

"Do you think. Do you think he even remembered me?"

"Yes," Hakyeon said. There was no pause. No hesitation. "How could he have forgotten?"

"I gave up. I abandoned him. I... I failed him."

"No, no you didn't—"

"Did Jaehwan tell you? Where he was? How we found him? He was so close, he was _right there_."

"He didn't," Hakyeon said, and it was with a lurch that Wonsik heard those words.

"He was." A pause. A breath. Eyes squeezed shut. 

"You don't have to tell me. You don't have to tell me anything."

"A pleasure house," Wonsik said. "He. Fuck, I can't do this."

"You don't have to," Hakyeon said again.

"He was killed, and that fucker tried to make it look like he killed himself." Wonsik choked out the words, spat them out like they were poison, and then he sagged against Hakyeon, lying down though they were. "And if we hadn't been there. If Taekwoon and I. They would've believed it. Everyone would've believed it. Because he must've been miserable. He... He..."

"No, he didn't have to be," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik would have wrenched himself out of Hakyeon's grasp had Hakyeon not held him tighter, and Wonsik didn't have the strength.

"How would you know?" Wonsik said, and it was hoarse and rough and sharp, and full of an anger that was directed not towards Hakyeon, but was said to Hakyeon.

But Hakyeon only smiled a smile that Wonsik could not see, and his thumb rubbed circles against Wonsik's back in unconscious thought.

"Where do you think I learned to dance?" Hakyeon said, and Wonsik remembered a conversation from nights and nights ago, a conversation from a night where Hakyeon had cried in his sleep, and had made a deal with Wonsik to talk about a boy that Hakyeon knew. 

"Oh," Wonsik said. "I didn't know."

"It's not exactly something I advertise," Hakyeon said with some amusement. "For some, it isn't a bad life. Some choose it as one. For others, they learn to choose it as a life, even if they had it chosen for them. We aren't all born into old families, and sometimes it's better to eat than starve, and we make the best of what's given to us."

"Is that what happened?" Wonsik found himself asking. "To you?"

"I suppose," Hakyeon said, a note of curiosity in his voice. "I must've been about... eight? I don't remember much, but I remember that my sister was fair, and my brother was fair, and they thought when I grew older I might become fair. When you're eight, you do as your parents tell you, and you wonder why they're crying, but you don't question what they're doing." A pause. "I was not alone. There'd been a drought."

"Do you hate them?"

"No," Hakyeon said. "I wish I could, sometimes."

"D'you know what I said to my dad tonight? Just before the year ended. I told him I wish I could hate him. But I couldn't, because even then, I think I knew he was right."

"I bet you asked his permission to say that first," Hakyeon said.

"I did," Wonsik answered, a little rueful. And then: "you said you had family matters to take care of."

Hakyeon laughed, a soft laugh, a private laugh that he shared with Wonsik nonetheless, even if Wonsik couldn't know what the laugh was about. 

"I did," Hakyeon answered, a little wistful. And then: "I was too afraid to find that they would hate who I'd become."

"You didn't come back immediately."

"Young Master makes an astute observation. I have friends in the city. Not so far. They sold me in a city only a day away—I think they knew I would fetch a higher price at the houses there than nearer the capital where they have more delicate tastes."

"Where are you from?" Wonsik asked, because he realised he didn't know. 

"South, by the border. On our side of the border, thankfully, not the provinces. I've never gone back except that one time, and only enough to know my parents were still well. My friends—there've been letters. Not so many now that I'm here with the Prince—receiving one letter explicitly listing all the ways I was 'fucking stupid' was more than enough, I didn't feel up to telling the others." A pause. "Maybe I should've when I was down there, but I really _am_ the best, and I know the capital better, I couldn't say no, not without a reason."

Hakyeon's voice was soothing in its familiarity, the banality of his words, his unassuming one-sided conversation despite the contents. Wonsik listened, nodded, hummed.

"Marquis Dae," Wonsik said.

"That's the one," Hakyeon said. He smiled, rueful. "I have to say, I got an earful for that too—my own doctor friend wasn't too pleased, especially when I didn't go see him until two days later. Another one who called me 'fucking stupid', and he's not the type to swear. Ah, I should say my friends here are a bit nicer—helped me get in here, but not without a warning about tiger dens. Do tigers even have dens?" 

"Taekwoon said that the best time to kill someone was before a heavy snowfall like this."

"Oh?"

Wonsik blinked. "I don't know why I said that."

"But now I'm curious," Hakyeon said. "Why is that?"

"It buries the blood," Wonsik said. "The colour. The smell. Outside the city, the body."

"Until you find the body in the spring," Hakyeon said. "Are you thinking of killing someone?"

"I wish I was," Wonsik said softly. "I know a hundred ways to kill someone without ever having done them." And then: "I wanted to," he admitted.

"Want and doing are very different," Hakyeon said. "Want and thinking are different."

"What did Jaehwan say?"

"Mm? Only that there had been a funeral, that there'd been you, and that there'd been your friend," Hakyeon said.

"Why did he tell you?"

"Because I asked," Hakyeon said.

"Why did you ask?"

"So many questions, Young Master Investigator," Hakyeon said, and it was with fondness. Fondness to hide the distress of helplessness. "He was upset, so I asked. Are you going to ask why again? Mm, because I like him even if I don't know him like you know him, and isn't it natural to ask in that case? Ah, and it's very easy to tell when the Prince is upset."

"Yes, yes it is," Wonsik said. And then: "why did he kill him?"

It was a question that Hakyeon had no easy answer to. That there was no easy answer to, and at the same time, that there was a simple answer to.

"Because he was cruel," Hakyeon said.

"He could've just had him leave, if he didn't want him," Wonsik said, and he couldn't bring himself to say Hongbin's name, and it was with shame that he knew the reason why.

"Perhaps he didn't want anyone to have him, if he couldn't have him," Hakyeon said. "In the short time I've known you, you've already told me of two cases like that."

"Short time," Wonsik repeated.

"Only a few months, my love," Hakyeon said.

"Longer," Wonsik said. "Why did you leave that cross-stitching, the first time?"

"Ah, that one? It amused me, and I had no one to give it to, so I thought why not leave a little conciliatory reward? You were working hard," Hakyeon said.

"Neither Jaehwan or Taekwoon ever let that one go," Wonsik said. It was grumpy, and it was so normal of a grumpy it nearly brought another surge of tears. 

"Would you like another? I've gotten much better," Hakyeon said.

"I'll pass," Wonsik said, huffing. "And the rest?"

"Mm, you had such a good reaction and you seemed to like it. It was like a reverse theft—I told you, it amused me."

"I meant, tell me about the rest. The whistle."

"The whistle," Hakyeon said. His voice quieted, softened into nostalgia. "I had one when I was small. I had that one when I was small."

"And you gave it to me?"

"It seemed right," Hakyeon said. "I'm glad you kept it."

"I kept everything."

"Yes, I saw."

"Even the letters. Except for the ones Taekwoon burned."

"I can't say I'm surprised—about Taekwoon, that is. He has a temper, that one."

"Jaehwan too."

"Yes," Hakyeon mused. "Although it's more cute than anything."

"I should give it back."

"The whistle? What for?"

"It's precious to you?" Wonsik said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Which is why I gave it to you," Hakyeon said.

"You didn't even know me!"

"Maybe..." And this was an admission, a confession that there had once been a far reached hope. "Maybe it's because I hoped I would."

Wonsik breathed in, and then he breathed out, and then he held Hakyeon tight. Slight, he was so slight. His hair was bound tightly, and Wonsik reached for it, fumbled with the tie, and Hakyeon laughed and undid it and combed his fingers through his hair.

"Is that why you never cut it?" he asked.

"I just never got in the habit," Hakyeon said. "Besides, it's pretty, right?"

"Very."

"If it's pretty, why would I cut it? It seems a silly thing to do."

"Hakyeon."

"Yes, love?"

"I want..."

"You have to give me a little more than that," Hakyeon said. He smoothed a thumb against Wonsik's cheek. It was still damp with tears, and Hakyeon did it again, and then he leaned in and kissed him in the same place, and he tasted salt on his lips.

It was quiet, the words Wonsik spoke. They brought a flush to his cheeks, as absurd as that was. "Fuck me," he said, and it was an echo of nights and nights ago when it had been Hakyeon with tears not quite dried on his face, and Hakyeon who had plead with Wonsik for the same thing.

There was hesitation because it was different, and it was uncertain, and it was something that they had never done.

"Are you sure?" Hakyeon asked, and Wonsik nodded. "It will hurt," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik shook his head. "Then, if you wish," Hakyeon agreed, because this was a night that heralded the start of a year, and a night after which a day had passed, and a night where Wonsik would not regret, where he needed like Hakyeon had needed, and he kissed Hakyeon like Hakyeon had kissed him. There was no taste of salt.

Words are remembered, or they are forgotten. Not all that was said that night would remain in Wonsik's memory, while some would be seared and sealed within him, turning and burning until they'd engraved themselves so deeply that they'd become distorted in their fervor to be remembered. The days after would be dulled and numb, memories would haze as time fogged. A pond on which the world was reflected on, but falling pebbles and leaping fish having left behind ripples that blurred the image, so there was nothing that could be remembered.

But there was touch, and there was comfort, and there was the memory of tears. The wet heat of Hakyeon's tongue pushing past his entrance, of his fingers slick with oil opening Wonsik gently, even more gentle than Wonsik would. Of the heat trapped between their skin, of the sweat glistening against Hakyeon's neck, his hair thin and fine and falling against Wonsik's bare shoulder as Hakyeon kissed down his chest. A motion repeated a thousand times over, touches trailing over the jut of bone a thousand times more. Hakyeon inside of him until they were as close as two people could ever be, as Wonsik felt Hakyeon fill him, and knew that this was right.. Hakyeon's mouth on his, his tongue against Wonsik's. The stretch and the hurt that Hakyeon had spoken of, even if Hakyeon was gentle and slow because for all that Wonsik wanted and needed and did not regret, there was the apprehension of a first time, of something different, of something uncertain, of something they had never done.

And there was Hakyeon's voice telling Wonsik he loved him in a hundred different ways, the words melting into Wonsik's skin. And there was a promise, breathed into Wonsik's mouth, and Wonsik understood it for the truth behind those words, because this was the night of after a day had passed, and a night where Wonsik had cried. And a night where Hakyeon loved him, made love to him, and swore to keep that love within him forever.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It snowed heavily the night of the new year, and any trace that there had been a whore turned thief turned dancer who'd escaped and then broken into a palace, solely to visit the son of a magistrate, was quickly buried in a white blanket that came up well past a man's knee. There were people to visit, and people to whom respects had to be paid, but the skies were a fickle mistress and it wasn't until the third day of the new year before it became possible to travel. 

Wonsik did not visit, for he had the spectre of mourning draped across his shoulders, and it was not a thing that could be brought through doors of celebration.

Nor was he idle, for as much as the night had disappeared like a dream with no proof of its existence, it was a night that had also kindled the seed of determination already planted within his chest. His father was pleased. So, Taekwoon told Wonsik over a game of chess, was Jaehwan, because it seemed like there was nothing Jaehwan said that Taekwoon deemed could not be repeated to Wonsik. It only made Wonsik more firm in his decision to _never_ breathe a word to Taekwoon about Hakyeon. At least not yet. Not before things were done, before choices that had been made would come to fruition. 

The night after the first full moon of the year, after the half month of celebration, Wonsik found himself pulled unwittingly out the door of his wonderfully warm room and into the horribly frigid winter wind so they could climb into Jaehwan's waiting carriage and pay a visit to Jaehwan's favourite inn.

It wasn't that cold. Wonsik _had_ however been preparing to spend the night with well warmed wine while discussing the meaning of poetry and the finer points of law with his father. His father, however, had ushered Wonsik out of the door citing the needs of a young person, and the needs of an old man who would like to enjoy a pleasant night with other old men.

"Jaehwan, please no more sword jokes," Wonsik groaned. Beside him, Taekwoon's face was bright red and covered with his hands, as Jaehwan refused to cease and the jokes became worse and worse. "They're not even funny."

"It's your fault anyway," Jaehwan said, grinning a little too widely. "You gave him the sword."

Wonsik was strangely relieved that Jaehwan hadn't tried yet another pun. "Taekwoon begged me to buy it for him," Wonsik protested. 

"No I didn't," Taekwoon said. He finally put his hands down so he could flash Wonsik a glare.

"But really, it keeps poking into me—it's not a joke! At least take it off when you're home," Jaehwan said.

Wonsik sighed, anticipating another round of bickering between the two of them. It was warm in here, warm enough that they'd all shed their coats. The place was well heated and doing brisk business, few of the tables left unfilled by well-dressed young men, gathering over food and wine. It was a little louder in their corner—in another room, beautiful girls were dancing to gentle music, and the conversation was more muted and refined. Wonsik was much more in the mood for that, but Jaehwan was excitable and Wonsik didn't have the energy—nor did he oppose it so much—to stop him. He suspected that after nearly two weeks of courtly celebration, Jaehwan was far more amenable to drinking with friends _without_ having to care that he was a royal prince. 

He also suspected that Jaehwan was doing this for him. 

"I'm sure you can work your way around it," Wonsik finally cut in. "No, no Jaehwan, no more. Just let Taekwoon do what he wants with it."

"But he really does carry it everywhere," Jaehwan complained, like he hadn't done so at least three times in this very night. The wine probably did not help.

Wonsik glanced at Taekwoon, who was looking down at his hands, one hand fingering the belt about his waist which he wore the sword on, hidden behind his jacket at all times. It wasn't long enough to be called a sword but too long to be a knife, and its grip, hilt, and sheath were all made in the manner of a sword. A style more popular from beyond the sea, they'd been told.

"It's important to him, so drop it," Wonsik told Jaehwan, a little sharply.

"He won't tell me _why_ ," Jaehwan said, lower lip jutting out.

"It's her favourite flower," Taekwoon suddenly said. "Peonies."

Wonsik froze, and Jaehwan's brows furrowed. "I thought it was your favourite flower," Wonsik said, after several long seconds. It'd been why Wonsik had finally bought it for him—Taekwoon saying that he wanted it, while staring at the flower engraved on the bottom.

Taekwoon shook his head. "She said it reminded her of me," he said, his voice dropping to a mumble. "So I wanted it."

"Oh," Jaehwan said. His tongue flickered out over his lips and he looked down. There was a strange expression on his face, the one where he had when he was being careful with his words. His cup was empty—Taekwoon filled it and pushed it towards him.

"If it bothers you that much, I'll take it off at home," Taekwoon said. Jaehwan's gaze snapped upwards and held Taekwoon's; Wonsik felt like he was intruding on something strangely intimate. 

Taekwoon's sister. Hongbin. Their twin cases that had been doomed to remain unsolved. Until one of them had been solved for them.

He hoped they were not twin cases after all.

"Drink, drink," Wonsik said, breaking up their moment. "Let's order more food."

"Chicken, let's get more chicken!" Jaehwan agreed loudly.

Jaehwan, in that moment, was unbearably thankful to Wonsik, and his knack of knowing when to say the right things. All too often, Jaehwan couldn't figure out what Taekwoon was thinking, and Jaehwan knew through Wonsik that Taekwoon had frequently said he could never even guess what was going through Jaehwan's mind at times. 'Me neither,' Wonsik had added. Jaehwan had pulled out his best pout.

Had he been able to know Wonsik's thoughts earlier, he would've been only half surprised to know of how close Wonsik had been. They weren't particularly obscure reasons, and Wonsik was far from a dense fool. Jaehwan also hadn't seen Wonsik in over half a month which seemed an interminable time when Wonsik had always made time for him in the past, and was prone to dropping by or calling Jaehwan out without prompting. And then there had been Taekwoon, of course. He'd managed to slip out all of two times, which was enough to learn that Wonsik had finally decided that he would take the next imperial exams, in less than two years. It would take intense studying but Jaehwan had faith that Wonsik could do it—and he did have a certain amount of royal favour as well. It ought not to have mattered, but if needed, it would be enough to tip the scales.

All things considered, Wonsik was doing far better than Jaehwan had worried he might be.

Jaehwan had never met the man in life, but that one day had been enough to know what it was that Wonsik's friend had meant for him. Grief, Jaehwan had learned that day, was a powerful thing. 

He wished he could order the bastard's execution, but there was too much testimony that the bastard would've been within his rights to do as he wished to the victim—but the events that had transpired that day, Wonsik's actions, the fucker's denial, all that cast doubt on whether or not the bastard had owned the victim at all. There was no proof of ownership—even if there had been, Jaehwan would've made sure there'd been none. Not enough proof to let him walk free, not enough proof to execute him. The courts would open tomorrow, and the first thing he'd do was order a beating of fifty strokes with the rod, a compromise. Not everyone died from fifty strokes. Most did.

But tonight was not a night for such thoughts. No, tonight was a night where he could ply his friends with wine and be watered in turn until even Jaehwan was as flushed as Taekwoon frequently became upon embarrassment, and Taekwoon and Wonsik were both quite red as well. It was late when they drank their last cups of wine and donned their coats, stepping into the brisk winter night. The moon was setting and the sky was clear, embroidered with stars. Only a sliver of the moon was missing, and it hung in a pale disc part way set, the rabbit resting eternally under the tree. Neither of the three had early mornings to attend to: Jaehwan being who he was and the year still new, Wonsik with no responsibilities whatsoever, and Taekwoon whose responsibilities were timed under his own whims, and rarely did they begin until well after dawn. He was not an early riser.

They sent Taekwoon home first. He lived closest to this particular inn. Jaehwan couldn't help himself but to smooth Taekwoon's hair away as Jaehwan leant forward, just before Taekwoon descended. Taekwoon leaned into his touch, his face warm, his eyes half closed and lovely in their slant. Jaehwan smoothed his thumb down Taekwoon's scar and felt him shiver under his touch.

"Come soon," Taekwoon demanded, as he descended. 

"Understood," Jaehwan said, laughing. Only Taekwoon would demand things of a prince.

Wonsik had been watching all this while, and Jaehwan now leaned back in his seat, meeting Wonsik's eyes.

"I don't think I've ever seen Taekwoon like that, and I've known him for years," Wonsik said.

Jaehwan waved a hand dismissively. "You just haven't gotten him drunk enough," he said. "Sometimes he gets _really_ touchy."

"Thanks, I needed to know that," Wonsik noted dryly.

Jaehwan watched Wonsik closely, letting silence fall inside the carriage while the sound of horses hooves came through the curtained windows. It didn't take long, a minute at most.

"Where are we going? This isn't the way to my place." Wonsik frowned, and Jaehwan shrugged because he was met with a surge of genuine displeasure.

"I know," Jaehwan said, grinning. "I wanted to talk to you. I love Taekwoonie but I just wanted to spend some time with just you too."

He knew that it bothered Wonsik when he called Taekwoon that. Sure enough, Wonsik's mouth twisted in irritation, before his face smoothed in contemplation.

"You chose the place well," Wonsik said. "You needed a reason to drop Taekwoon off first."

"Cor _rect_! I'm smart, aren't I?"

"Very smart," Wonsik agreed. "Alright, what is it."

And here, Jaehwan paused. 

There were times that words said, or words that were left unsaid, could change the course of a war, the destiny of a kingdom, the future of a dynasty. When one was born bearing the blood of a dynasty, one was made aware of such things at an early age. That Jaehwan rarely chose to abide by such knowledge did not mean he had forgone making that knowledge part of himself, as all his brothers and sisters had. His mother, and the mothers of his brothers and sisters. Words said, or words that were left unsaid.

They could also change things in much smaller ways: what would be eaten for dinner that night, to have wine of saffron or rice, whether the red earrings or the ones of simple gold would be worn—intentional. But words said with intention to change, could often change things in unintentional ways.

This was, Jaehwan knew, such a moment. What he did not know was the exact nature of the crossroads he stood at, where the branches ran to, or even _what_ the branches were. He had a map he was drawing—the Heavens had maps of their own. Sometimes, it was merely providence, and no words said, or words left unsaid, could have changed the course of lives. This, of course, was something no one could ever know.

"What will you do?" Jaehwan said, and they were awkward and clumsy and stilted. He bit at his lip, shook his head. They were going towards the palace. It would not take long. Perhaps it would be better to wait. But he had begun speaking those words, and to leave the rest unsaid for even those minutes it would take to return to Jaehwan's rooms could change the meaning to something Jaehwan had not meant. Rarely was it solely the content of words that bore their meaning—the context always told much more.

"It's not just infatuation," Jaehwan said, before Wonsik had a chance to say what he was going to say when he'd opened his mouth in that pause. Jaehwan met Wonsik's eyes, steadily, carefully. He was sure of what he would say, but he was not sure how Wonsik would react. Already, he could see understanding dawning in Wonsik's eyes, although dawning was far too gentle of a word to use. 

"When you look at him. It's not just attraction, or infatuation. You want to be with him forever. He's the most important person to you, other than your family." A pause. "Does he know?"

"Yes," Wonsik said, and it was quiet and almost miserable at the same time, although why it might have been the latter, Jaehwan couldn't quite grasp, not in such a short moment.

He was not particularly surprised by Wonsik's answer. One would have to be blind to not see that Wonsik looked at him like the sun and the stars and the moon, like he wasn't more precious to Wonsik than the rarest, most exquisite jewel. Only rarely were they together outside of Jaehwan's residences—and Jaehwan's people were not prone to spreading gossip of what went on within Jaehwan's walls. One could be killed for such gossip, even if Jaehwan would never for he was not such a person. It was the way things were, and the way things were done.

"Wonsik," Jaehwan said, and then a pause. There were many pauses tonight. It had taken Jaehwan a long time to say even that one word, to follow Wonsik's answer. They were, Jaehwan saw when he drew aside the curtain for a moment, nearing the palace. Wonsik, when Jaehwan looked back towards him, truly did look miserable. This wasn't what Jaehwan had intended.

"It's not bad or anything—Wonsik, I... I say this as a friend, but..." He bit at his lip, and then realised he was doing it, and then his tongue wet his lips, and then he realised he was doing it, and neither of these were particularly proper behaviour. "You need to make a choice."

Choices, it was always choices. More things Jaehwan did not know; it had not been so long ago that Wonsik had been told the same thing, by someone very different. To Wonsik, it was in a different life, that he had been told. To Jaehwan, it had not even been three weeks.

"Not sure I understand," Wonsik said.

Jaehwan had not been half as drunk as he had seemed—he'd known that this was a conversation that would happen. Wonsik hadn't. It didn't matter, because the conversation was slowly undoing the haze of good wine. In many ways, Wonsik wished that it wouldn't.

A crossroads, this one. Jaehwan didn't know that much earlier in the evening when he had summoned Taekwoon to him, there had been a crossroads there as well, not so very different from this. Taekwoon had told Jaehwan he wanted to go south—there was something he needed to learn. He hadn't yet told Wonsik. He told Jaehwan not to tell Wonsik. He'd thought of something, he told Jaehwan, and needed to learn if it was true. He wouldn't tell Wonsik until he'd learned it was true, and Jaehwan wasn't to tell Wonsik until they'd chased that truth to its end. Jaehwan had been amused—he had become a keeper of secrets, for one from the other, and from one and for the other. A crossroads.

"What will you do," Jaehwan said gently, "about Hakyeon?"

"What _can_ I do?" Wonsik said, and it was not as idle a question as it might have seemed.

"I can release him into your service," Jaehwan said. "If you want me to."

Wonsik laughed at this, a sharp bark of laughter. "My service?" he said.

"Yes?"

They'd come to the gates of the palace, and they were allowed in. Wonsik waited to answer, waited so long that they soon came to Jaehwan's residence itself, and then the only prudent thing to do was to wait until they'd stepped into the lantern lit light and into Jaehwan's rooms where cloaks were shed, and where water was boiling on a brazier.

"I don't want him," Wonsik said, and it was slow and gentle because he knew he'd been harsh and that Jaehwan had meant only the best, "in my service. I can't keep him as you can, I don't have the status to have a personal courtesan, and I don't _want_ a personal courtesan."

"He can also remain with me," Jaehwan said. "And you can see him as you have been seeing him, but it's not something you can do forever."

And so the crossroads had been made, the roads been set out, and Wonsik had unwittingly been lead, unresisting, onto one that could have been said to be the only choice, when Jaehwan had not left certain words unsaid.

"No, I can't," Wonsik said. He exhaled, let Jaehwan pour him tea. The flush of wine had nearly disappeared, left behind in the carriage. "Your humble servant knows what was said was said in kindness, and deserves to be punished for not accepting it."

Jaehwan nearly growled in irritation. "Y'know why I always liked you? Because you cared more about saying what you meant than speaking out of turn. So don't start bowing left and right at me."

Wonsik laughed softly as he straightened, and picked up the cup in his hands. "Sometimes it's easier," he said. He sighed, because Wonsik may have made his choices, but there were things more difficult than simply making them.

"I would've asked you for something similar eventually," Wonsik said. A wry twist of his lips, tilt of his head, a glance at Jaehwan, amused self deprecation. "Kinda like asking for your daughter's hand, though."

"Oh." Jaehwan knew his eyes had grown wide. He understood now. There was a subtlety here, this asking. Not an offering. He should have known. There were better ways to have said the words that he had said.

"I... would need to ask him first. And my own father." A deep breath, placing down the cup that had not been drank from. Still full. They both looked down at that cup, at the way the tea barely remained inside. "I'm the only son. The only child. I'm not like you—even with enough status, enough money, I can't just start my own household for the sake of some freedom. And there's responsibilities there, Jaehwan. Carrying the family. Different from your responsibilities, but they're still there."

He was meandering away from what he had wanted to say. From what he needed now to say. "I need to convince Father."

"You think he won't approve?" Jaehwan frowned.

Wonsik shrugged, the same wry twist of his lips. "It's not exactly proper," he said. "But I think he may agree. Now that I've decided what to do with my life, and..." Wonsik swallowed and looked down, his eyes blinking. It was enough for Jaehwan to understand.

It had, after all, been only half a month. The time it took for the moon to go from new to full, from dark to bright. It had been when the moon had been dark, when what Wonsik was speaking of had happened.

Jaehwan waited. He drank his tea. Jaehwan had never been a patient person, but there were times when one had to be.

"Father feels sorry, but it feels like I'm using him, y'know? Like a chess game—sacrifice a piece to win an exchange."

Wonsik had picked up his cup again, was turning it in his hands again. This time, he sipped at it.

It was a night when the moon was nearly full, and would soon slip away into its own rest. They had each gazed upon that moon the previous night, gathered among family, forming a whole. Jaehwan hummed. He knew what family meant to Wonsik. He knew what his father meant to Wonsik. He knew that Wonsik would never be anything but filial.

Careful. This was also a night where Jaehwan had to be careful with his words. It wasn't out of need, out of propriety, out of the demands that life and the world had wrought around him. It was for something more—for a friend. Stakes as high as the former.

"I don't think he would've minded," Jaehwan said.

"How would you know?" Wonsik bit at his lip, shook his head. "You didn't know him."

"No, but I know you," Jaehwan said. "No one you cared for that much, would have wanted you to be anything but happy."

"'He would've wanted', 'he wouldn't have wanted', why do people keep saying these things?" Wonsik pressed his fists against his eyes. It had been the fire. The Fire. Jaehwan knew of this. He might have known even if Wonsik had never told him; it was hard to forget such a thing. Wonsik and his father had rushed back, but the flames had been quelled by the time they had returned, even though they had raged for a day and a half. It had been more than only those two lives claimed. "They said that when my mom and sister died. My dad did. He barely cried. Told me they wouldn't have wanted me to cry. Wouldn't want me to grieve so much. I believed him. They all said that. Would've wanted me to be happy."

"Because they would have," Jaehwan said.

"You can't _know_ , because they're _dead_ ," Wonsik cried, and he knew he'd said these very words before, he knew they were an echo, but it was a thought that would not leave him and could not leave him. "You can't know what the dead want, and he's _dead_."

"Yes, he is," Jaehwan said. "And he's not coming back. You really think he'd care, if it'd make you happy? It's not like you killed him. It's not like chess—it's already happened, and I don't think he'd mind if you made the best of it."

Wonsik blew out a breath, and when he put his hands back into his lap, his eyes were still red, still damp, but at least the tears were not flowing. "You don't know what it feels like," he said. "You've never known what this feels like."

"I know. Which is why I can tell you these things," Jaehwan said. He was bordering on harsh, but he'd never been good at softening his words to comfort people. He'd never been good at comforting people. 

"Yeah," Wonsik said. Sometimes, there was nothing that could be said.

A crossroads. A choice. A step.

Water boiling. The orange glow of the charcoal. Heat, in the middle of winter. The middle of the first month of the year. The night after the moon had been full.

Words said and words left unsaid. What had needed to be said had been said.

"I'll speak to Hakyeon," Wonsik said. "And then I'll speak to my father," Wonsik said. "And then..."

"And then you'll speak to me," Jaehwan said, and Wonsik nodded.

"Do you want to go to speak to Hakyeon now?" Jaehwan asked.

Wonsik gestured about them, at the night outside, at the candles burning low. " _Now_? There's no way he isn't asleep. No, not now," Wonsik said. 

He had drank with Jaehwan and Taekwoon that night, and he could have gone to Hakyeon who would have woken for him—who would have done anything for him although Wonsik could not have known—but he stayed, that night, with Jaehwan.

An echo. A mirror. And possibly a significance in that itself as well.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

It was warm. Warm enough to sit outside even under the night's stars, although they each had cloaks draped about their shoulders to shelter them from the remaining chill. The night was quiet, empty, and Hakyeon rested his head against Wonsik's shoulder, Wonsik's hand resting on Hakyeon's leg. 

The snap of winter had given abrupt way to spring come early, for the first moon had come late. The moon had waned from full to a mere crescent, and it would not rise any higher in the sky than it had already, a few fingers above the horizon. Stars sprawled across the sky, the river resplendently bright and splitting the world into two, holding apart the weaver girl and the cowherd until the seventh day of the seventh month when the kindness of magpies would allow them to reunite, as their hearts were always united.

Stories flooded through Wonsik's mind, and how many there were of love disallowed and yet still striven for. Something men would never tire of telling, but were quick to play the villain when it was their sons and daughters who created the stories in which they were the heroes.

Wonsik had yet to tell Hakyeon of what he had spoken of with Jaehwan. He'd meant to, but he'd swallowed his words the last time he'd seen him, for it had been the first time he'd seen him since the night of the snow. The snow was gone now.

Time seemed to slip between his fingers these days, and it seemed impossible that almost a month already had passed. The year had begun; enough days had passed of the new year that it could no longer be said to be new. Whenever he tried to count the days, Wonsik found that they had disappeared from his memory, had blurred into a haze, indistinguishable from one to the next. He recalled a chess game with his father, a night with Jaehwan and Taekwoon, and an afternoon spent lying by the brazier with Hakyeon, a cloak draped over them like a blanket, while Fluffy had burrowed under the cloak, near their feet. Soon, his father would leave and Wonsik would be left to manage the household again, although Kyungmo, as always, was the ever capable presence. There had also been the aftermath of The Event, that had become Wonsik's, and only Wonsik's, responsibility—Wonsik had been surprised at how few of the girls, the young boys, had elected to return to their families, until Hakyeon had gently reminded Wonsik that they were no longer marriageable, that their past was something not so easily shed. That no matter their elegance, their skill at art, their courtly manners, nothing could erase the truth behind it all. It was better to start their lives anew, or continue living the ones they had.

There was something Wonsik had to do before his father left.

His thoughts had drawn a veil of sombre consideration over his face, his worry evident in his tightened jaw, the stiffness of his shoulders. All this Hakyeon knew and could feel, although what it was that worried at Wonsik, he could not know. 

_The moon in deep evening lights half the house, the North Star slants across the South Star’s cross. Tonight we find the onset of spring’s warmth, as the sound of insects first slip through windows’ blinds._ The lines came to Hakyeon as he leaned against Wonsik, breathing deeply the early spring air. It had been a cold, harsh winter and Hakyeon was glad to see it over, if the Heavens remained kind. Much had happened since autumn had grown cold, and even more had happened as the new year had come and gone. 

Wonsik had changed, but it might have been stranger had he not. It wasn't right to say that he'd become swallowed by sadness or was enveloped in sorrow—but there were times when his driven motions through life would fall away to reveal a silence that Wonsik had hidden himself in. Hakyeon knew, for he had seen it in himself when he'd lost all hope of Sanghyuk still living, when he'd finally given him up for lost and had uprooted himself from the city he'd grown up in, a day from where he'd been born. Two losses there—Hakyeon hadn't been brave enough to remain in a place where memories could crash down on him at the corner of a street, the sound of the waves, the alley where Hakyeon had had his first kiss that he'd meant, had whole-heartedly given. 

But those were memories and thoughts for long winter nights by the heat of the braziers, and this was a night where the warmth of spring had come upon them.

"Hakyeon."

"Yes, love?" He couldn't remember anymore when he'd started thinking of Wonsik in such terms, could only remember how right it had sounded, the first time he'd called Wonsik that aloud. A moment where he'd risked everything, careful planning be damned. A weakness—being lead by his heart.

"Do you like me?"

It took Hakyeon several seconds of stunned silence to process the impossibility of such words, and then several seconds more for apprehension to run a cold finger down his spine.

"I am rather fond of you," Hakyeon said, not stirring from where he was leaning against Wonsik. This drew a deep timbered laugh from Wonsik, and it set Hakyeon's heart at ease.

"Enough to stay with me?" Wonsik asked, and Hakyeon's heart flipped in his chest at the possibility behind those words, at the _impossibilities_ behind those words.

"I'm staying with you right now," Hakyeon said, words light and playful. There was a stuttered silence, and then Wonsik's hand on Hakyeon's shoulders, gently pushing him upright. Hakyeon found himself caught in Wonsik's eyes, the familiar downwards droop at the corners entrancing and charming in a way that Hakyeon could not explain. 

"Come with me," Wonsik said—those three words slammed into Hakyeon, pushed the air out of his chest inaudibly yet still leaving him breathless.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Young Master Investigator," Hakyeon said. He was grasping now for any semblance of control—he couldn't _not_ have control, not in a place where it was true, people had been killed for something so little as bowing the wrong number of times. Wonsik was different—Wonsik had always been different. He'd grown careless with Wonsik because of it. He'd placed his life in Wonsik's hands—had been in his hands for even longer than that. Habit. He deferred his eyes from Wonsik's, from that sad earnestness, demurred, words softening. Habit.

"No," Wonsik said. "You do. I realised something Hakyeon."

"And what would that be, Young Master?"

There were things one learned, when one had been sold by their parents in the hopes they would all live another winter, and there was nothing to sell but a youngest child. How to pour tea, how to speak with formality yet familiarity, how to charm. How not to dream. How to dance. His haven, that. Control—control over his body, control over men, the way their eyes would linger on his motions. There were things not to be dreamed, and had Hakyeon been fourteen again, his face losing its boyishness, his skin still dark and not fair—the dream that could not be dreamed was being held in front of him.

"If I don't at least try, I'll regret it forever."

The world was spinning, plans unravelling, the future barrelling towards him faster than Hakyeon could run. 

"You speak of stories," Hakyeon said, and here it was, the admission that he understood Wonsik, he understood his words and his meaning with every string of his soul—but could he be blamed if there was nothing else here he could understand? "You speak of impossibilities."

Wonsik tipped Hakyeon's chin up, his hands cold to the touch but it didn't matter when Hakyeon found himself ensnared in Wonsik's gaze. A line about fallen flowers and visitors from the east, dew on their clothes—no, had it been a mountain outside the city, the lone boat by the bridge, the bells in the night? Snatches of poems and songs as Hakyeon was caught in Wonsik's eyes, as he sought for the right words to say.

"No Hakyeon, believe me. It doesn't have to be impossible." Wonsik took a breath, one that wavered and Hakyeon could feel through his touch. The curtains slipped aside and hidden silences revealed. "That my father was right, all those years ago—I told you that. But I still tried—that's not. It's not the same. But I don't regret meeting him, don't regret any of that—"

Wonsik cut himself off with a sound of frustration, a shake of his head.

"I love you," Hakyeon said. This brought Wonsik's eyes back to him and Hakyeon held that gaze, clutched at it, needing it. "I love you, and I believe you. But—"

"Hakyeon. I love you," Wonsik said, and Hakyeon leaned in, pressed their foreheads together, their skin cool from this early spring night. He traced in his mind's eye every line of Wonsik's face, from the way the corners of his eyes seemed to droop downwards, the soft line of his jaw, the curve of his cheeks. His own eyes had closed, for if they weren't closed he thought he might cry.

He might cry, regardless of what he did or did not do.

"Your father, the Prince—"

"Jaehwan suggested it, no Hakyeon, as a kindness to us," Wonsik said—the plummet of Hakyeon's heart at Wonsik's first words must have been visible, the fear that the Prince had finally tired of Hakyeon, had decided that whatever talents he might have were not enough to counteract the time he spent with Wonsik and not Jaehwan. "I'll speak to my father. I want to tell him before he leaves."

"And when is that?"

"Two days," Wonsik admitted, and Hakyeon couldn't stop the small helpless laugh. 

"So soon," Hakyeon said. "I suppose Fluffy will have to get used to a new place, and just when I've started to explore the palace. Everyone's very nice to me—probably because I'm charming."

"Hakyeon—"

"You will see your father again in less than two months," Hakyeon said, and it was less of a question than it should have been. There were places that Wonsik needed to go, things he needed to do. That Hakyeon couldn't do. Not a time for such thoughts—so many poems about the start of springs, a favoured subject as was the moon, and yet they all seemed to have slipped from his grasp. "Not until then."

Poison in a jeweled cup. Where had he heard that? A poem declaimed once, repeated, when Hakyeon had been a child. It was not poison, this. It was a gift far beyond any Hakyeon could ever, had ever, deserved, and the poison was Hakyeon's own, and he feared that if he did not accept, then Wonsik would be the one to drink it.

"Then you will—Hakyeon, you will?"

There was so much disbelief in Wonsik's voice that Hakyeon laughed again, and then wiped his thumb across Wonsik's cheek, dampness under his skin.

"Unless the Heavens fall," Hakyeon whispered. There was no one here to hear but the Heavens themselves, but his voice was hoarse in its quiet. A prayer to the Heavens—one more. Just one more. But how could he tell Wonsik such a thing? A letter with a request and a plea, sent on the cusp of autumn and winter, delivered to a friend who lived a day from where he had been born, and a reply received a moon and a half later.

"Oh—Taekwoon is gonna kill us. But you'll get your chance to make friends," Wonsik said, a mix of horror and hope. "He'll kill us all when he finds out how long we've been keeping this from him."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Hakyeon said.

Taekwoon. How much he had heard about Taekwoon. He was a doctor, Hakyeon had known, and Wonsik had told him how he had learned from his grandmother, and that no, he didn't know how to do 'that poking thing', at least Wonsik didn't think he did, he'd never seen him. He was a real brat and a gossip, once you got past that poker face, and he hated bugs. He had a sword, but Hakyeon had known that already, intimately, although he'd also heard that Jaehwan had got rather upset about Taekwoon wearing it everywhere. That Taekwoon kept a meticulous log of his herbs and kept his medicines locked in a cabinet, but tossed his messily written notes into a drawer without the least care. A sore loser at chess, sometimes brilliant and at others, he could have been beaten with a child. There was a cat that Taekwoon insisted wasn't his, but she was a little terror that had taken to curling up in a corner of Taekwoon's shop even during the day. And he ate. He ate endlessly, and could procure food at the most unexpected of times.

Yes, Hakyeon thought they could make good friends.

Wonsik laughed, and he was still crying, overwhelmed. The night held no crickets, no cicadas, but it held their voices, murmured and whispered, currents and undercurrents. It held Wonsik telling him about the fishes in the summer, and Hakyeon musing that he and Steward Kyungmo would get along very well. Hakyeon kissing the tears from Wonsik's cheeks, and Wonsik running his hand through Hakyeon's hair until it fell unbound and loose about his shoulders. How Hakyeon would bring Wonsik tea as Wonsik studied for exams, and how Hakyeon had always had a talent for poetry. Hakyeon's laughter and Wonsik's laughter as they both leaned in at the same time to kiss each other, and their noses bumped.

The future was crashing into Hakyeon faster than he could run, and Hakyeon clung to the present, determined not to regret a single moment when the future had swept him up in the endless torrent of time that Hakyeon could not see into, but believed would lead to a clear lake and fair skies.

He had not thought so far, when he had applied his considerable persuasive resources towards granting him an audience with the Eleventh Prince, offering his talents as a dancer. There had been only a sense of exhaustion, of the bleakness of a future in front of him that Hakyeon could not see into, nor see past. He could only be a thief for so long. Caught, injured, old. It happened to everyone, eventually. He'd seen it happen. His old master—Hakyeon had not been sorry, not even when he'd been executed. He was no better than Taekwoon in that sense but it was something he would never admit and never to Wonsik. And then there had been Sanghyuk. 

But the palace was such a world apart it was no longer part of the world. Wonsik had asked after his friends once, the ones he'd had before the Prince—Hakyeon couldn't remember anymore what he had said, but it certainly hadn't been the truth that Hakyeon had been tired, and wanted nothing more than to lock himself away from the world, and what better place was there than behind the walls of a royal prince's residence? 

And now.

And now Wonsik was offering him something far beyond anything Hakyeon had ever seen. Trade hazard, he'd often told Wonsik. Long term planning had never made much sense. 

And now there was a courtyard, tea in a pavilion under the sun, a shelf with a clay whistle, and the bark of a dog as birds scattered into the sky, leaving behind only their song.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

"You've gotten even better," Wonsik said.

Taekwoon huffed as he joined Wonsik on the steps, faint traces of sweat at his temples. He'd sheathed his sword, dropped it between them as he sat. There was a tinge of pink in his ears that had nothing to do with exertion, and Wonsik stifled a smile at it.

Spring had arrived truly, the plum blossoms flowering in delicate whites and pinks, lining the walks of Wonsik's courtyard garden. The past few days had been clear with only a few clouds to lend splashes of white, completing the painting. Braziers had been put away into storage, and heavy winter blankets were traded for those suiting spring and early summer nights. Snow was long gone and Taekwoon had taken to training in the grounds of Wonsik's manor again—on occasion against Wonsik, thoroughly kicking Wonsik's ass every time. More often, his blade flashed alone in a solitary, lethal dance—nothing like the flowing grace of Hakyeon's, meant only for show and beauty. 

Hakyeon. Just the thought brought unwitting smiles to Wonsik's face, and he found himself smiling at the strangest of times. No matter how much Hakyeon had spoken of impossibilities—and how much Wonsik had once thought it impossible—the more he thought about it, the more he grew certain that it was possible. By the time the plum blossoms bloomed again amongst early snow, Hakyeon would be here with him to enjoy it. Wonsik was certain.

"You're smiling again," Taekwoon said.

"Am I?" Wonsik quickly pursed his lips, trying to smooth his expression out. He quickly gave up, shrugged. "It's spring."

"Mm. I like spring," Taekwoon agreed. 

He was, however, not smiling. 

"Jaehwan will be back in less than a week," Wonsik reassured Taekwoon. Taekwoon promptly flushed pink, ducking his head.

"I don't miss him," he muttered. His subsequent sigh and the way he dropped his face into his lap promptly belied this statement, and Wonsik rubbed at Taekwoon's neck, smiling fondly. 

"Was your own trip fruitful?" Wonsik asked.

Taekwoon lifted his head and nodded several times, a sudden glint in his eyes and smile on his face. 

"Next time, maybe tell me you're leaving before you show up the day of," Wonsik said wryly. Taekwoon nodded but Wonsik knew that come next time, Taekwoon would do the same thing, asking for his horse and with no set time of return. This time, he'd been gone for the better part of two weeks, returning three days ago to find that Jaehwan had left on his own week-long trip to oversee the progress on the building of some temple or other. 

"You'll have to get used to this if you're with Jaehwan—"

"I can go with him," Taekwoon cut in.

Wonsik chuckled. "You two are a pair," he said.

"What's wrong with going with him?"

"Nothing," Wonsik said, waving Taekwoon down before Taekwoon could strangle him. 

Taekwoon settled, although not without a huff and a glower. There was still sweat on his neck, and Taekwoon rubbed at it, running his fingers against his throat.

"Jaehwan said he'll ask his Emperor Father to leave the palace to establish his own residence before summer ends," Taekwoon said. His voice was soft and low, and he rubbed at his arm as he said this, staring down at the stone tiles.

"And you'll be moving in with him?" Wonsik asked, but it might as well have been a statement instead of a question, with how sure Wonsik was that Taekwoon's nod would be the answer.

"It'll be easier," Taekwoon said.

"I might imagine," Wonsik said wryly. "Even if you're allowed in the palace now."

"Not like you. Not through the gates, unless I'm with Jaehwan," Taekwoon pointed out. Not at night.

"What about your practice?"

"I'll still do it," Taekwoon said. He looked up to stare at the plum blossoms that always heralded spring, the first to splash nature's colours through the world after the white blankness of winter. "Jaehwan said he'll still be bailiff for the capital. He said he likes it, even if he found it burdensome at first."

"Is Jaehwan okay with you telling me everything he says?" Wonsik asked.

Taekwoon shrugged, and Wonsik resigned himself to accepting that they'd become a package. A quick tempered bratty, gossipy, childish package. 

"And you'll become an official investigator," Taekwoon added.

Wonsik snorted. "I have to pass the exams first," he said. And then there were exams after that, and then more exams, if he wanted to rise to where he could in the ranks. In status. In power.

"I guess you'll need to marry soon," Taekwoon said. He picked at his robes. "Jaehwan will need to marry too."

"We still have time," Wonsik said. "Don't go marrying us off so quickly."

Time.

"Wonsik."

"Yeah?"

"Jaehwan told me..." A hesitation, a pause. Time. Taekwoon was fiddling with his sword now, drawing a finger down the painted wooden sheath. Wonsik kept offering to replace it with a metal one, but Taekwoon kept refusing. If he wanted to, Wonsik knew that he'd ask him for it—Taekwoon wasn't like Hakyeon and had no qualms about asking Wonsik to buy him things. It was cute.

"What did Jaehwan tell you?" Wonsik asked. He was thinking of Hakyeon again, of how he might get Hakyeon a hair ornament, or new robes, finely embroidered. 

"He asked you once if you'd rather find Hongbin dead, or keep thinking he was alive."

Wonsik sucked in a sharp breath, the one he hadn't taken the first time he'd been asked, the time he'd heard those words from Jaehwan's own mouth, although this, he did not remember.

They had time, but not so much time that they could take all they wanted, for time was relentless in what it would take from them. A reminder. 

"He did," Wonsik agreed. His voice was steadier than he thought it could be.

"I thought about it," Taekwoon said, and his voice had dropped to a whisper. Softer than a whisper. "I think I'd want the latter."

There was no answer Wonsik could give to that but to place a hand on Taekwoon's back, so broad and yet hunched over to make himself small, to let the world flow about him and hide as best as he could as it did.

"No one will blame you," Wonsik said, and he wished he could take back those words he'd said to Taekwoon all those months ago.

"Jaehwan... Jaehwan also was sorry that he asked," Taekwoon said. Another thing that Wonsik doubted Jaehwan had asked Taekwoon to convey. 

"It's alright," Wonsik said, vaguely aware of the irony in this conversation as he tried to reassure Taekwoon. But it really was alright in many ways. He'd made it alright, inside himself. Tried to make it alright. Some things. The world hadn't ended, time hadn't stopped. The flowers still bloomed, and in the morning, the birds still called out the morning. He had steadfast friends beside him, a father anyone would be fortunate to call father. And Hakyeon. Hakyeon whose cheeks crinkled when he smiled, lines forming under his eyes. Whose smile could quickly turn into a disgruntled pout, and then a smouldering smirk all within seconds. Taekwoon would go to live with Jaehwan, and Hakyeon would come to live with him. Orchids would follow the plum blossoms, and the ponds would turn lovely with lotuses. 

" _Even the poplars and elms in their unremarkableness, refuse to be overlooked and fill the sky as snow._ " Wonsik recited the lines, thinking of the flowers that would soon bloom in fragrance, the trees whose buds would unfurl into leaves until the world was awash with green. How even trees knew that time was temporal and would pass, that moments had to be seized and filled with value, before the world passed them by.

Taekwoon merely looked at him askance and Wonsik laughed, patting him on the leg.

"I have to get used to this?" Taekwoon asked, glowering.

"I'm afraid so," Wonsik said. 

"If you don't pass the exams the first time I'm going to strangle you," Taekwoon muttered. 

"That's a strong incentive," Wonsik said, eyes opening in mild alarm. But it was alright, he didn't say—he'd have someone far more willing to discuss poetry with him before then. Blue suited Hakyeon—it could be blue, embroidered with green. He was smiling again even if he didn't know it. It set Taekwoon at ease, and he smiled too.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

Azaleas bloomed along the walkways, and Wonsik rounded the familiar rock crag along the well worn path to Hakyeon's rooms. The fragrance of flowers was inescapable as spring neared its height, the moon half-full pale in the sky alongside wisps of clouds. There were birds sweet in song that Wonsik couldn't name but basked in nonetheless. In his own gardens, fruits had started to take the place of plum blossoms, brighter flowers spilling into its place.

Wonsik climbed the few steps and knocked on Hakyeon's door.

"Hakyeon?"

"Come in!" Hakyeon's voice sounded clearly through the door, and Wonsik smiled as he pushed it open. He was expecting Hakyeon, but he wasn't expecting Hakyeon to be sitting across from _Jaehwan_ across a chess board.

"Oh, it's you," Jaehwan said. He grinned, uneven and lopsided.

Wonsik closed the door, abruptly aware that his mouth was still open. "You play chess?" was the first thing he could think to say.

"Not even a word of greeting?" Hakyeon wrinkled his nose in displeasure.

Wonsik brought his hands together, bowing first to Jaehwan, and then to Hakyeon. "I didn't mean to interrupt you," Wonsik said to Jaehwan.

Jaehwan waved it aside, gesturing for Wonsik to sit. Hakyeon stood, motions unbelievably smooth, no doubt to retrieve a tray of tea. There was a knife in a handsome wooden sheathe tucked into Wonsik's sleeve that he'd meant to return today, but it seemed like it would have to wait. Some things, Jaehwan could not know.

"I didn't know Hakyeon played chess," Wonsik said.

"You never asked," Hakyeon said, returning far more quickly than Wonsik had thought he would. He set the tray down by Wonsik and knelt, pouring out a cup.

"My Prince," Hakyeon said, holding it out for Jaehwan to take.

It'd been some time since Wonsik had seen Hakyeon and Jaehwan together—long enough to forget that this was the proper order of things. Wonsik was unduly grateful when Hakyeon only said "Wonsik" as he handed Wonsik a cup that Wonsik accepted with a small bow of acknowledgement.

Wonsik glanced at Jaehwan, who merely tilted his head at Wonsik like a curious dog.

"Where's Fluffy?" Wonsik asked, suddenly noticing her absence.

"I dismissed Eunji to rest when the Prince came, and she asked to take our child with her," Hakyeon said, lingering with purposeful emphasis on the words 'our child', his eyes crinkling a little at the corners as he looked at Wonsik. Wonsik promptly coloured, and was thankful he hadn't been drinking his tea.

"I see," Wonsik said, a beat too late. "You should've told me you played chess."

"You never asked," Hakyeon said again—Wonsik wasn't sure if he was imagining the slight note of reproach in Hakyeon's voice.

"I did!" Jaehwan said. He pouted at Wonsik when he turned back to him. "Don't leave me out."

"Your servant would never have that intention," Hakyeon said, immediately slipping back into formality, bowing to Jaehwan.

Jaehwan clucked his tongue, grimacing. "Just call me Jaehwan, I can't stand all this 'your servant' 'my Prince' stuff."

"My Prince?" Hakyeon's eyes opened wide as he straightened.

"Uh—" Jaehwan's eyes were no less wide as he suddenly turned to Wonsik. "You did tell him?"

"I did," Wonsik said, looking between the two of them.

"Good, then I don't see what the problem is," Jaehwan said, bouncing a little as he turned back to Hakyeon with a grin. "I don't wanna have to be polite all the time with our Wonsikkie if you're here, so get used to calling me Jaehwan."

Fear or panic visibly twisted Hakyeon's features uncontrolled, before Hakyeon swallowed back his composure. "As you wish, my... As you wish, Jaehwan," Hakyeon said. It seemed impossible how stuttered and unsure Hakyeon's words were, nothing of Hakyeon's usual easy manner, his deferred surety. Hakyeon had been the one to ask Wonsik if he could stop calling him 'Young Master', yet he still hadn't raised his eyes from the floor to meet Jaehwan's.

Wonsik's brows drew down into a furrow, him and Jaehwan sharing looks of equal confusion. 

"If it makes you uncomfortable, you don't need to," Wonsik said. He placed a hand on Hakyeon's arm—Hakyeon recoiled at the touch. "Hakyeon?"

Hakyeon let out a shaky laugh as he relaxed, finally looking up—but his gaze seemed to settle somewhere behind Jaehwan, instead of on Jaehwan. "I'm sorry, this was all very sudden," he said.

Wonsik pulled his hand back and stared down at it.

"It'll be my honour to," Hakyeon said, bowing towards Jaehwan. "Although, as my Prince said, it may take some... getting used to."

"It doesn't have to be all at once," Wonsik said. He didn't touch Hakyeon this time, but his voice had slipped unknowingly into the one he used to gentle his horse. Low, deep, calming. 

"I'm afraid I'm still getting used to the idea itself," Hakyeon said. He straightened, turned to Wonsik. "And there is still your Lord Father."

"He _will_ approve," Wonsik said. It was this Hakyeon was afraid of—Wonsik was sure the moment the thought dawned upon him. That this would all be for naught. That he'd have no choice but to remain a dancer in Jaehwan's retinue, that there was no place for him elsewhere, and the fear that had shown in Hakyeon's eyes for even that briefest second wrenched in Wonsik's chest and gripped at his skin. 

"Although, will you still dance for us?" Jaehwan asked mournfully.

"If my Prince wishes," Hakyeon said, the words automatic, as was the bow. "I do dance for Wonsik all the time."

"Dance, or _dance_ ," Jaehwan asked, his mouth crooked in a leer. Wonsik groaned and rubbed at his neck.

"Both," Hakyeon said before Wonsik could stop him—he could only watch in horror as Hakyeon's familiar smile appeared, sweetly innocent. "Although I'm afraid I can only dance for you, and not _dance_."

Jaehwan cackled, clapping his hands together in glee. "This is gonna be fun," he said. His expression softened into a smile, one that Wonsik had come to know well over the past few months. "We can ask Taekwoon for music, and for you to dance."

"Taekwoon's never met Hakyeon," Wonsik reminded Jaehwan softly. There was a warning in that reminder as well, one that Jaehwan caught the moment their eyes met.

"There'll be time," Jaehwan said, waving his hand dismissively. "You're leaving us for the countryside in a week or so?"

"Yeah," Wonsik said. His heart thudded in his chest—he had decided that he would speak to his father upon their return after the proper respects had been paid, but before the seven days of seven had passed. It seemed right. Hakyeon's eyes had opened wide at Taekwoon's name—one secret kept from Taekwoon would no longer be kept, but the other would remain between him and Hakyeon, and only him and Hakyeon. It had to.

"Then after that," Jaehwan said. He grinned at Hakyeon, the genuine one, all craggly toothed and not refined in the least. "You'll like him."

"I've heard much about him from Wonsik," Hakyeon said. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Jaehwan laughed, and it felt good to have Jaehwan laugh like that with Hakyeon present, walls being dismantled not so much brick by brick, but by being smashed through with every word that Jaehwan spoke.

"I don't know how either of you think him and Taekwoon will get along," Wonsik muttered.

"We will," Hakyeon said, smiling convincingly at Wonsik—for all of Wonsik's words, how he hoped that Hakyeon and Jaehwan were right.

"How long are you gonna be gone for this time?" Jaehwan asked

"Less than a week," Wonsik said.

"Ah, I heard they're known for their teapots—will you bring me one as a souvenir?" Hakyeon asked. Wonsik blinked at him but nodded. Hakyeon asking him for something.

"What? You've never brought me anything," Jaehwan whined.

"Because you never asked," Wonsik quickly answered, wrenching his gaze away from Hakyeon.

"It'd be funny if another phoenix went missing," Jaehwan said. Hakyeon choked on his tea, and Wonsik nearly dropped his cup.

"A _phoenix_?" Hakyeon asked, his eyes opening wide in disbelief. "How could one go missing when they don't exist?" If Wonsik didn't know better, he would've been convinced that Hakyeon was genuine in his surprise.

"It was just a chicken," Wonsik said.

"Nope, we can't let that secret out! Phoenix, it's a phoenix," Jaehwan said.

Wonsik sighed, spreading his hands helplessly. 

"It was _stolen_ ," Jaehwan whispered loudly and conspiratorially to Hakyeon. "By Wonsik's thief. Has he ever told you about his thief? He was courting Wonsik but suddenly disappeared, and now Wonsik's pining for him. You should be careful in case he steals Wonsik's heart away."

"They can try," Hakyeon said. He smiled at Wonsik, and it was a smile that melted the tension that had clenched at Wonsik's jaw as Jaehwan had spoken and Wonsik fought not to interrupt. Reassurance, warmth—love.

"Yeah," Wonsik agreed, "they can try."

And they _had_ tried—and succeeded—and Wonsik didn't even care that Jaehwan was calling the two of them gross, not when Hakyeon's eyes held the stars and his smile was the sun, and Wonsik was the one who was bathed in their light.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

There was something enticing about the moon, generations of poets agreed, but it faded into paleness when spring beckoned with its warmth. This was such a spring and the windows were thrown open, the fragrance of honeysuckle filling the room despite only edging the few arches along the walkways outside. Not yet summer, but it was a spring as warm as the winter had been cold and they were abundant in their sweetness. 

They were also, much to Taekwoon's dismay, trading verses about spring.

"He's taking a long time," Wonsik noted. He and Jaehwan had stopped not long after Taekwoon had fled. They were now sprawled across the floor, Jaehwan in a very un-princely manner as he lay on his back. 

"He probably got distracted," Jaehwan said. 

Wonsik laughed. That was a very distinct possibility, knowing Taekwoon. Jaehwan reached out blindly for the tray of sweets, plucking one of the biscuits and dropping it into his mouth. He'd wanted to call on Hakyeon as well, but Eunji had told him that he must've gone out for a walk, he'd taken to doing that some mornings. Wonsik was rarely here in the mornings and had resigned himself to dutifully joining Jaehwan in their studies as he'd come to do. Taekwoon had come as well of course, never missing a chance to cling to Jaehwan's waist, resting his chin on Jaehwan's shoulder.

But even that was not enough of an incentive to keep him listening to poetry. At least Wonsik restricted his memorisation of the classics to his own rooms.

"What'd you tell your Emperor Father anyway?"

"About Taekwoon? That he has something to investigate in the palace," Jaehwan said with a floppy wave of his hand.

"What? Investigate what?" 

"It's just an excuse," Jaehwan said.

"Ah, okay." Wonsik settled himself a little more comfortably, having sat bolt upright at Jaehwan's words. 

"The only thing he's investigating is probably the kitchens," Jaehwan said. He yawned as he sat up, prompting Wonsik to yawn as well. A noon nap was in order, perhaps after lunch.

"We ought to go investigate too," Wonsik said. "It's about time to eat."

"Let's wait a bit longer, or Taekwoonie'll kill us if he finds we've started without him," Jaehwan said.

But there was no need to wait. There was no chance of waiting. Quick steps pounding against stone sounded from outside—Jaehwan and Wonsik shared a look before Jaehwan scrambled to his feet and pushed out the door, Wonsik only half a step behind.

"Your Highness!" A soldier dropped to a knee, bowing to Jaehwan in salute. "Lord Wonsik! Your Highness and Lord Wonsik, please come to the imperial library."

"Rise," Jaehwan said. "What is this about?"

"Thank you, your Highness—a thief has been apprehended, and your Highness must be informed, Lord Wonsik as well."

To Wonsik, the world stopped after that one word: _thief_. No sound, no sight, only the rush of blood and too many things falling into places that Wonsik had never connected, would never have connected had Taekwoon not spent so long away, had Hakyeon not spent this morning on a walk. Taekwoon's trip. An overheard comment about rats at night, of ghosts in the day. Thief. Library. A prayer, a plea. Even the greatest thief was only human, and no human could truly be as invisible as a ghost. The palace rushing by, Jaehwan's voice telling Wonsik to wait. A misunderstanding, simply coincidences—a prayer. 

But few coincidences were not the workings of fortune, and so the crossroads each of them had met and walked came together in an inevitable destination. Words could have been left unsaid, memories could have been left unturned, and in another world, another time, they would have lead to a different destination. 

He was, as the first time Wonsik had seen him, wearing red silks. Light and suited to spring. The red lines on his neck were darker. His arms hung loose at his sides, his head bowed, strands of hair messily undone from where they'd been arranged. Swords on either side of his neck, sharp steel, unforgiving, one dulled with blood. Eyes dark and steady as he raised his gaze to Wonsik, without a flicker of recognition.

He did not, Wonsik thought, look like a thief.

There was Taekwoon—of course there was Taekwoon. He was smiling in the way he did when he needed to hide a smile, his face somehow even more severe, but his eyes shone in pride as Wonsik slowed to a walk.

"Hakyeon."

Wonsik breathed out the one word, the one name, the one thing he least wanted to say in a scene like this. There was confusion on Taekwoon's face, and Jaehwan breathing hard as he finally ran up to them.

A moment's glance was enough to sear that image into Wonsik's memory for the rest of his life, and yet he could not bring his eyes to look away from Hakyeon's unflinching gaze. 

"You know him?" Taekwoon asked Wonsik.

"I've danced for him," Hakyeon said, and his eyes flashed steel at Wonsik, a warning, an order. His voice was calm, as steady as his gaze. He turned to Taekwoon, allowing a small smile to play at the corner of his lips. "I've danced for you too, although it doesn't surprise me you don't remember."

"It's a mistake, Taekwoon, this is Jaehwan's—"

"It's no mistake." Hakyeon's words cut through Wonsik's. Harsh. As unforgiving as the sword which now pressed against his skin. "A clever trap, I ought to have known. I won the first two times, but it seems like you win the third, Taekwoon."

Taekwoon flushed at his name. 

Jaehwan, Jaehwan who'd kept three secrets, watched as the three secrets tangled into one, three fates brought together as if ordained, and knew that there had been a secret underneath it all, a secret that had been kept from him. A secret he now wished had been kept, had never been unearthed, a truth never brought to light, and one that he would never know or understand his own part in bringing about, how a single request of his had prompted Hakyeon to snatch at chances, to sacrifice care for the sake of time.

"You lied to us," Jaehwan said. His eyes bored into Hakyeon. Us. A word purposefully chosen. Hakyeon had never lied to Taekwoon.

"Your humble servant deserves to be punished for it, my Prince." Hakyeon raised his hands in place of a bow—the guards jerked forward, but Jaehwan waved them down in time. Us. Hakyeon heard the word and understood. In this, he had an ally.

"You'll be punished for more than that," Taekwoon growled. There was something here that Taekwoon did not understand. Too much here that Taekwoon did not understand. Wonsik, Jaehwan—this was not the scene that Taekwoon had envisioned, Wonsik and Jaehwan proud of him, Wonsik happy, Jaehwan pleased, the both of them at first, perhaps, disbelieving.

"I suppose I will be," Hakyeon said, and he smiled in the way he had when he'd faced Taekwoon on a rooftop. Taekwoon remembered that smile.

This was a commotion, there were soldiers gathered, and all but three present dropped to their knees in a bow as the Emperor walked in. The two guards remained standing, blades against Hakyeon's neck. Hakyeon remained kneeling, upright.

"Emperor," many voices said in unison.

"Emperor," Hakyeon said, raising his hands and bowing his head.

"Rise," the Emperor said. He was a tall man, and it was he that Jaehwan more closely resembled than his Lady Mother. It was to this son that he now looked to, a younger son who was dutiful, filial, and who could have been the son of no other but himself. There were soldiers, there was his son's friend who was the son of Magistrate Kim, and his son's commoner friend. There was also a man who the Emperor might have seen about, and who was the center of the trouble.

"My Emperor Father, your son deserves to be punished for allowing this disturbance in the palace," Jaehwan said. He bowed at the waist, hands held in front of him. "Taekwoon has done your son a great service in apprehending the thief which your son failed to apprehend. Your son deserves to be punished for this negligence."

A thief. "Your dancer, is he not?" the Emperor asked, and Jaehwan bowed even deeper.

"Yes, my Emperor Father. Your son cannot go unpunished for allowing this to happen." 

The Emperor laughed. "If we could see past all deceptions, we would not need such people as you and your friends, Jaehwan. Now stand," he said. Jaehwan. Another subtlety there. There was no negligence on the part of the Eleventh Prince. There was no fault to be laid on him. Taekwoon—the commoner friend. The Emperor recalled this thief now, Jaehwan had spoken of him to him once, had said his friends would undoubtedly catch him. He had forgotten—a small thing.

"Thank you, Father," Jaehwan said. 

No movements, no words. Not during this royal exchange. This was widely known and understood. Taekwoon's heart thudded in his chest, and although he had stood, as had everyone, his eyes were fixed on the floor. It felt wrong that the Emperor was here. It shouldn't have come to this. It was all wrong.

"I trust you will deal with him fairly," the Emperor said to Jaehwan. Jaehwan bowed.

"Your son understands and will obey."

He didn't straighten, not until his father had turned his back. Jaehwan's heart was pounding as Taekwoon's was, although for different reasons. _Even if he was your dancer_ , had been his father's unsaid words. There was no disobeying his father—even if his father had not been the Emperor himself. Wonsik understood this as well. Jaehwan did not know how to feel towards Wonsik—anger or pity, both or neither. 

A rope had been brought, and the thief who'd disguised himself as a dancer had his arms wrenched behind his back as he was bound, unstruggling, ropes crossing over his chest and with even less hope of escape, even impossible as it had been before he'd been tied.

A memory of an image in front of him, a scene he had already seen—no, a scene he had seen in his mind and that was now painted in front of him in reality. There was blood on his neck and he looked up at Wonsik, meeting his eyes unflinchingly, thick ropes binding his arms behind his back. His eyes bored into Wonsik's, calm and unbothered, kneeling in front of them, resigned to death.

Hakyeon was not calm, nor was he unbothered, but if he allowed his eyes to waver there would be nothing left of him to keep him from crumbling, from shattering in front of Wonsik, in front of the one person he'd never wanted to hurt like this. He would die. He understood this. He wanted to explain himself, he wanted to apologise to Wonsik. He wanted Wonsik to look betrayed, angry, wanted to see anything in his eyes but the splintered pieces of his soul that were all too evident.

"Thirty strokes," Jaehwan said. His voice was calm and unbothered as well. Mastered. Controlled. He was, in the end, a Prince. Wonsik heard those words—thirty strokes could kill, if one were weak, but it was fair. Thirty strokes could still cripple. "Then take him to the prison. He'll be dealt with properly in time. There are more important matters at hand."

"Yes, your Highness!" They began to pull Hakyeon to his feet but he shook off their hands, standing of his own will. Sharp steel cut into his neck, but this was not the first time Hakyeon had been in pain yet refused to allow it to show. 

A touch on Wonsik's arm, a warning. There was nothing Wonsik could do here that could fix things. Wonsik knew this as well. The touch was a warning, a reminder. This was not something that could be fixed so easily in a room where the Emperor had just been in. Even like this, Wonsik understood. 

"Wait," Jaehwan said. The soldiers halted. Hakyeon halted. "To the back," he said. "There is no need for a public beating."

"Understood!"

They left. Hakyeon in his silks, lighter in colour than the blood on his neck, his hair tumbling down his back, hiding his arms, his shoulders straight and proud, his steps light and graceful, thief and dancer.

Wonsik did not wait to see his back disappear, because Jaehwan had grabbed his arm and pulled with a strength that was hidden by his thin frame. He was dragged outside before he was released, into a courtyard that was empty, where there were no soldiers.

And so did the third defining moment in Wonsik's life pass. A third loss. The third stone of his youth, and there has always been power in threes. Another moment that would be remembered in fragments, with pieces missing like the pieces of the jade pendant that Wonsik had found at the scene of a murder. He hasn't, at this moment, understood this. There is another piece he needs to be given before he can see the lavender flower which has been carved into the jade by the clumsy strokes of someone who'd overestimated their own experience and talents. Not in this moment. That piece will come later. This moment has passed, the room has been emptied, and Wonsik is brought into a late spring morning which he had left so little time ago.

The moment has passed but the story has not ended. There is more to this story, although here, the story could have ended. The story could have ended two days ago, with the kittens that had been brought to Taekwoon's door, to symbolise new memories forming without losing old ones, for years ago, on that date two days ago, Taekwoon's sister had not come home from where she worked at an inn. If this were Taekwoon's story, it could have ended there. It could have ended half a year ago with the first snow, with laughter, a white dog, and a smile like sunshine. Or it could have ended even earlier—rain in the sun, a brush against his sleeve, while speaking of endings. It can end years from this moment when Wonsik lies on a bed, skin thin and bones frail, watching the world vanish like smoke before he finally joins his parents, his sister, his friends, and there will be sons and daughters and grandsons by his bed. For is that not the most natural ending in a person's story?

_You speak of stories_ , Hakyeon had said to him once. In time, Wonsik will remember these words, remember a day with sun and rain where they had spoken of stories and endings, and the stories that men chose to tell.

In time.

Another story.

In this story, Jaehwan has dragged Wonsik outside into a courtyard with no people, and Taekwoon has followed, several steps later.

"You knew." Jaehwan let go of Wonsik's arm. There was nothing in his voice that betrayed anger, nothing in his voice that betrayed pity. Wonsik wished there was the former.

He nodded.

"He's strong," was the second thing that Jaehwan said. Wonsik met his eyes, and Jaehwan answered with a small shrug. "He won't die."

"Yet," Wonsik choked out, and Jaehwan swallowed. There was too much here, too much had happened in too little time, and Jaehwan could now wonder if the decisions he'd made, the things he'd said, had been the right ones.

"Wonsik!" Taekwoon ran out behind them, and he called his friend's name harshly, his confusion reshaping itself into anger.

"Taekwoon."

"What was that, who is he? Jaehwan?" Taekwoon looked between the two of them, lost, adrift, unable to grasp the events that had spiralled so entirely out of his control. He'd laid a trap, he'd planted rumours, and the prey had taken the bait on the first try as if in a story—but the story had ended there, and Taekwoon still didn't know what it was that had happened.

Wonsik swallowed. He looked away from Taekwoon.

"Hakyeon was—"

"Jaehwan, please." 

"He'll know eventually," Jaehwan said, and Wonsik shook his head. He knew. He understood. He looked up and met Taekwoon's eyes, those familiar eyes, that familiar sharp gaze. 

"I loved him," Wonsik said. His voice wavered, tears threatened to spill out through his words. He shook his head again. "I love him. And I knew—I knew who he was. I knew who he'd been."

"He tried to steal from the Emperor!" Taekwoon's voice rose, and he took a step towards Wonsik.

"Not until today!" Wonsik snarled. He grabbed Taekwoon's robes, clenched them in his fists. "You laid a trap, _you_ tried to make him steal—"

"Because he was planning to," Taekwoon said. He shoved Wonsik back, and this time Jaehwan grabbed Wonsik, his grip bruising on Wonsik's arm. 

"Not now, not here," Jaehwan hissed. There might not have been anyone in the courtyard, but people could come, and people could hear.

"It was right," Taekwoon said, and it was far softer than his previous words had been, in volume and in tone. 

Wonsik wanted to yell at Taekwoon, he wanted to _hate_ Taekwoon, he wanted to be angry at Taekwoon, curse him, fight him, pin the blame on him but—it'd been right. Wonsik shook off Jaehwan's hand and straightened out his clothes as Taekwoon did the same. _It was right._

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

The world came back to him in snatches of shapes and colours, his skin numb and mouth dry. Steadily, the pieces formed into the ceiling of the small room in Jaehwan's rooms, and Wonsik fought through the sleep haze, grasping at conscious thought.

What had happened, had happened. This, Wonsik did not need to grasp at. This, the sleeping draught that his friends had all but forced on him could not be taken away. 

He rose from the bed, head dizzy. It had been strong, whatever Taekwoon had given him. A thread of anger festered under his skin at that, that they'd thought he'd needed to be sedated. Yet he couldn't tie it into anything substantial, because he understood, even through the anger, that he would have done the same if he had taken one of their places. He cursed himself for knowing that. He cursed himself for understanding.

A day had not yet passed. It was late evening, the sun not quite at rest. It was dim in the room, and what light there was was golden.

They would not still be questioning him. It had been hours already. It would have happened quickly—sometimes before the beating, if the beating was to be more severe. Or immediately after, before answers could be taken into the grave.

Wonsik hadn't even opened the door before the door swung open, and Jaehwan blocked his path.

"You can't stop me," Wonsik said. His voice was hoarse and raspy.

"I never said I would." Jaehwan stepped out of the way, gestured for Wonsik to go forward. Wonsik couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Jaehwan act so much like a prince, except for the first time they'd met—but not even that could match the poise he'd gathered within himself now. It was almost frightening.

"If you're not here to stop me, then what are you here for?" Wonsik asked.

Jaehwan shrugged, and here was a bit of the real Jaehwan, the one that Wonsik knew far better than this Jaehwan that belonged to his bloodline and the court.

"Drink something first," Jaehwan said.

"What, so I can sleep again?" Wonsik bit out. Unkind, that, but Jaehwan merely glanced at him before he went to pick up the tray on the table.

"Plain water," Jaehwan said. "Do you need me to drink it to prove it?"

Wonsik opened his mouth to retort but there was nothing. He picked up a cup and drank, the water wetting his throat but drying again almost immediately.

"Taekwoon said your mouth would be dry," Jaehwan said. He looked away. "I sent him home."

"I see."

Wonsik turned away. Anger, there. It wasn't right for him to be angry. Taekwoon—it was Taekwoon's right to be angry. Another thing Wonsik wished he didn't know, didn't understand, but that thread of his mind that could never leave behind clear facts and plain logic wouldn't cease feeding him these truths and realities. 

"Wonsik."

" _What_."

Jaehwan had put the water down again, stepped up by him, beside him. Wonsik turned at his touch and took the bottle that Jaehwan held out to him.

"For pain," Jaehwan said softly. And then: "I'll come with you."

He had wondered once what Taekwoon would value more—a criminal or a life. Wonsik knew now that the answer lay not in these black and whites, but in pain and suffering. Odd, when Taekwoon could so often see the world in black and whites.

It almost made Wonsik want to laugh.

He tucked the bottle into his sleeve and strode away. Jaehwan matched his pace evenly. There were no words that could be said, or that needed to be said. Words had already been said, and it had brought them here.

The sun continued to set as they walked, their steps long and firm. It soon became the darkness within which they should have had servants light their way with lamps, but they had already neared the imperial prison. Stealing from the Emperor was a crime against the country itself.

"Your Highness!" The guards at the entrance saluted, and then greeted Wonsik as well. This was not Wonsik's first time here. He let Jaehwan do the talking, unsure if his words would come out tinged with venom and anger or with some sort of sadness that Wonsik refused to allow himself to feel. Neither were fitting. It was better to remain impassive and cold, silent and imposing. He understood Taekwoon now, even better than he usually did. This too, was a way to face the world.

They lead them down dark passageways lit by dull lamps, and Wonsik committed the route to memory. A habit. Nothing more.

"This way, your Highness, Young Master." They stopped by a corridor lined with cells, quiet. Empty. Jaehwan held out his hand and was given the key without complaint, and the guards retreated with a casual dismissal of Jaehwan's hand. This was the power that an Emperor's son had, in a domain that was in part his.

"Come," Jaehwan said. The first words he'd said to Wonsik since they'd left Jaehwan's residence. Wonsik followed, heart pounding, steps anything but silent. Great changes could take months to build, but came and passed in a moment. Hours ago, a different life.

There were lights hung along the wall, kept burning at all times. Solid stone, metal rails. Small cells. Not for important criminals, those who'd once held some form of power. None were occupied, only one cell at the end. Jaehwan's work, perhaps, knowing this was a meeting that would happen. A kindness. Even in this. It was Wonsik's mess—he was coming to realise this. He himself was far from blameless.

They hadn't forced him to change his clothes—they hadn't even untied him.

"What's this?" Wonsik froze in front of the cell. He was speaking to Jaehwan. They all knew it, even though he was taking in the sight in front of him. He was still bound, he had been beaten, was lying face down because of it, although he lifted his head at their approach. There was a dark bruise on his face, blood on his lip, his hair in complete disarray—not from the beating, but after. What had once been delicate silks were now ripped, stained dark in places with blood. His ankles were shackled, a chain running from them to the wall. His arms were still bound behind his back.

"To keep him from running," Jaehwan said. He barely spared a glance at Hakyeon—he didn't think he could look at him for long without losing his composure.

"Tied up? Like this? How's he supposed to eat? Drink? He's been _beaten half to death_ and you think he _can run_?" Wonsik whirled on Jaehwan, his arm flung out, gesturing wide. "No one else is treated like this!"

"Because no one else might run from shackles!" Jaehwan yelled. "But what's a lock without a key to a _thief_?" 

"Jaehwan—"

"Enough!" Hakyeon's voice, cutting through Wonsik's. Jaehwan turned on him, his mouth twisted into a snarl.

"You _shut up_ ," he spat, but he took the next breath deeply and forced himself to step back, to let go of the metal rails. Anger. So much anger. But Jaehwan knew that as much as he wanted to direct that anger to the bastard, it would only slide off his back and pierce through Wonsik instead. Wonsik was too pitiful to be angry at—even if Wonsik had hid this from him, hadn't told Jaehwan when he'd discovered Hakyeon's identity. It'd probably been too late—Wonsik had probably already fallen in love.

"Enough, Wonsik," Hakyeon said, and it was with effort that he managed to roll even a bit on his side, so he could look at him without craning his neck. "Enough, my love."

Love. His love.

Jaehwan's hands fumbled as he unlocked the cell door, and he wanted to kick something, hit something. He didn't. He stepped back.

"I'll be outside," he told Wonsik. 

They both knew that there was nowhere for Hakyeon to run.

Even before Jaehwan had taken his first step to leave, Wonsik had rushed into the cell and dropped to his knees next to Hakyeon. _Unless the Heavens fall_ , Hakyeon had told him—and how they had fallen.

"Hakyeon, Hakyeon," Wonsik said. He didn't know where he could touch Hakyeon, didn't know where he wasn't hurt. Not his back—there was blood. But Hakyeon had lived. His fingers lingered against Hakyeon's cheek, the one unbruised, and it was too clear that Hakyeon was striving to do the same, but could do so only in his wishes.

"I'm so sorry, love," Hakyeon said. There were tears in his eyes, and Wonsik wanted to hold Hakyeon and kiss them away, but he didn't know if he _could_ , didn't know if it would only hurt. 

"Why?" Wonsik asked—he hadn't meant to, he couldn't help himself. But there was something else first. His fingers were unsteady as he reached into his sleeve, pulled out the bottle.

"For pain," Wonsik said. Hakyeon's eyes closed at this, lips curling into a small smile.

"Ah, Taekwoon?" Hakyeon asked.

"Yes," Wonsik said—it may have been Jaehwan who had given it to him, but there was no doubt in his mind who it had been truly from.

"I owe him my thanks," Hakyeon said. His eyes flickered upwards, meeting Jaehwan's ever so briefly, because the Eleventh Prince had yet to leave, even if Wonsik had already forgotten his presence. Jaehwan startled, balked—but there was no anger in Hakyeon's eyes, only the same pitiful expression that had been in Wonsik's, and true thankfulness that matched his words. 

"Pity we'll never make friends," Hakyeon added, looking back to Wonsik. "Perhaps in another life."

Jaehwan left. The rest was not something he could bear to hear.

"Perhaps," Wonsik said. He choked out a laugh, held out the bottle to Hakyeon's lips. A memory of an image—Taekwoon and a boy with eyes like Hakyeon's, a bottle held to his lips, only Hakyeon needed no urging to drink, although his eyes did close as he swallowed. They didn't look so similar then.

"Disgusting." Hakyeon made a face when he finished, wrinkling his nose. "After thousands of years you'd think they'd find a way to make medicine less disgusting."

Wonsik laughed, smoothing loose strands of hair away from Hakyeon's face. "Maybe another thousand years," he said.

"When we meet then because of fate, perhaps we'll have more destiny than in this life," Hakyeon said. His eyes closed again, but tears still leaked out between his closed lids.

"Don't, don't talk about anything but this life," Wonsik said. He wiped at one of Hakyeon's tears and then jerked his hand back when Hakyeon recoiled at his touch, a brief contortion of pain in his expression. "It's not over yet, I'll find a way."

"No," Hakyeon said, and that one word was soft and was swallowed by the stone closed in around them, and wrenched at Wonsik's heart. "I'm sorry Wonsik. I'm so sorry."

"I'll ask Jaehwan, I'll beg him—"

"Do not!" Hakyeon's eyes snapped open, and there was fire in them even through the tears. "Do not ask him to choose between the two things most important to him."

"But—"

"What would you choose, Wonsik?" Hakyeon's voice gentled, his eyes quieted, his breath slowed. "Your family and your duty, or your friends?"

He had no answer to that. Hakyeon knew he'd have no answer to that. 

"I'll find a way," Wonsik repeated, even though he knew—for how could he not—that now that things had come to such a place, there was little that could be done. But until it ended, until the last scene had been performed, there would still be a chance, no matter how slim it might be. In time, Jaehwan had said. He had given them all time. Death might have been waiting at the end of that time, but it would not come for them before. Time.

"I'm so sorry, love, I'm so sorry," Hakyeon said again, and he had to choke these out through sudden tears that he couldn't even wipe away, couldn't even staunch with his hands. "I had to try, I couldn't not try, I didn't think I'd fail, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Shh, shh," Wonsik wiped at Hakyeon's tears again and again, mindful of the hurt, but still his tears fell down his face, pooling below his cheek as he lay on the ground of a cell, his face turned to one side.

"Sanghyuk—" Hakyeon managed the one word, shoved it out, shook his head. "The pendant—it was his. I gave it to him. I had to know."

Here was the last piece, here was everything Wonsik could not have known. Here was that moment in Wonsik's life that he'd long since pushed away into obscurity, overwhelmed by a different memory in a moment not so far apart. Wonsik recalled fearless eyes, Hakyeon recalled broken jade. 

"I lied to you," Hakyeon said, and it was barely audible through Hakyeon's tears. Wonsik squeezed his own eyes shut, sucked in a deep breath, wished he could hold Hakyeon, whisper comfort to him.

"I had a letter sent south. I said I'd do anything—they said if I succeeded, they would tell me about Sanghyuk. Wonsik, I had to, I had to know. Even if that pendant had passed from his hands to another, but if there was a chance—Wonsik, I _had_ to."

"I know," Wonsik said. "I understand."

He couldn't know if he would've done the same, but he did, he _did_ understand. He leaned down, kissed Hakyeon softly on the temple, and then rearranged himself so Hakyeon could rest his head on Wonsik's lap.

"I'm sorry," Hakyeon said. His voice was hoarse and raw, and his tears soaked through Wonsik's clothes, damp against his leg.

"You knew this would happen if you failed," Wonsik said, and it was an unkind thing to say. He combed fingers through Hakyeon's hair.

"Do you think I'll be hanged?" Hakyeon asked.

"Don't—" Wonsik sucked in a sharp breath of air. Those words had been too calm, too sudden. Spring rains, autumn storms. Piercing. Drenching. Fear, terror, apprehension of the truth in those words.

"Don't say that, don't resign yourself so easily like that," Wonsik said, _pleaded_.

"Do you think I want to?" Hakyeon asked. Wonsik couldn't see Hakyeon's face so clearly like this, only knew that there was a waver in Hakyeon's voice he'd never heard before. 

"I don't want to die," Hakyeon said, and Wonsik closed his eyes against the world, swallowed fear, reached for Hakyeon's hand and grabbed it before he'd even thought to ask if they were hurt.

"I'm afraid of dying, I don't want to Wonsik, I don't want to." Hakyeon had not pulled away and so Wonsik gripped Hakyeon's hand, threaded their fingers together, ran his thumb across familiar joints. Hakyeon gasped through the words, wet with tears, and they were joined with Wonsik's tears that fell on Hakyeon's face, that dampened his hair.

"I don't want you to either," Wonsik said. "I don't want to lose you—I _can't_ lose you," but even as Wonsik said those words, he recalled a time he'd said them, hunched over another person, tears flowing, only that person had already been lost to the relentless current of time.

And like that time, it was still a truth that tears were not endless, and that such words were only the words of a poet unable to describe his own grief and sorrow, and even Hakyeon's tears eventually slowed, his sobs quieted, and Wonsik's ceased as well.

He would ask for water before he left—it wouldn't be good to leave Hakyeon without. 

"Wonsik. I'm sorry," Hakyeon said, after there had been nothing but harsh breaths for some minutes. "No apology can change things, but... And... Wonsik, please don't blame Taekwoon."

"Taekwoon? But he's the one—"

"Yes," Hakyeon said. "But he did it out of love for you. He was so happy when he sent for you—he actually _smiled_ , can you believe that?" A pause. "He and the Prince both, I think. Taekwoon with your thief, Jaehwan with your dancer—we all felt very helpless after the new year. But... But in the end, it was all me."

"Thief and dancer," Wonsik said. He'd closed his eyes, blocked out their surroundings, needing nothing but Hakyeon's hand in his, the warmth of Hakyeon against him.

"Yes. All me," Hakyeon said. His words vibrated against Wonsik.

"I love you," Wonsik said.

"Yes, I know," Hakyeon said. And then: "I don't deserve you." And then: "I shouldn't have pulled you into this game."

"No, no Hakyeon. I don't regret it—I don't regret loving you."

"You have always been too kind, Young Master Investigator," Hakyeon said. It was said slowly, softly. He had cried, and crying always sapped one's strength, and Hakyeon might have been strong but he didn't have much strength left to draw away. And rare was there anything for the strongest pain that wouldn't draw one into relentless sleep—but although the pain had begun to fade, it went nearly unnoticed when Hakyeon had become cloaked in pain of the heart, and there was no doctor nor medicine that could ease such a thing. Men had tried, for there was no pain older or greater than that which wrenched at one's own soul, but it was a pain over which time held domain, and time was a fickle master.

He hadn't meant to sleep. He hadn't meant to waste away what precious seconds they had by drifting into unconsciousness, but much had happened in only a few hours and Wonsik's hand was warm and strong in his. 

Minutes passed, and then more minutes, and Wonsik sat on the cold stone floor of a cell, holding the person he loved more than the moon and the stars, and more minutes passed before footsteps sounded against stone in the corridor behind Wonsik. They were familiar footsteps.

"Wonsik. It's time to go."

"Let me—"

"Let's go," Jaehwan said. He stood outside the cell, leaving Wonsik to gently lie Hakyeon back down onto the floor, but not before shedding his jacket to place under him to give him some comfort, even if there was none.

The sound of the key turning in the lock was a hideous one, quiet and unobtrusive as it was. Wonsik let Jaehwan pull him away, his arm about Wonsik's shoulders.

"I spoke to the guards about his bonds," Jaehwan said. "They'll see to it."

"Thank you, my Prince," Wonsik said—and Jaehwan accepted his thanks.

To refuse it would have been too unkind.

  

  

  

  

  

  

\- ☾ -

  

  

  

  

  

  

Night passed, and then a day passed. Jaehwan sent word to Steward Kyungmo that Wonsik would be remaining in the palace with him for a few days. No reason was offered—Kyungmo was an experienced steward, and asked for none. Wonsik thought to offer a quip about Jaehwan being _his_ jailor, but he wasn't Hakyeon, and couldn't find enough humour in those words to even pretend. He did, however, smile at the books that had been left on the table in the room that Wonsik was staying in. All the classics that touched even marginally on law or on crime, some with ribbons of cloth tucked between the pages, marking annotated passages. 

The birds had begun to sing when Wonsik finally looked up from his reading, the fourth candle having guttered out its last flame. His back ached when he stood and his legs prickled uncomfortably. Fluffy stood as well, from where she'd been sleeping at Wonsik's feet. The little dog trotted to the door, looking for her master. Wonsik went to pick her up and she whined in his arms, but she was drowsy. He would sleep as well, and continue to try in the morning. 

There would be no need, in the morning.

The morning dawned with clouds, a grey sky, only the smallest slivers of blue. Wonsik had been awake until the birds had sung, and he didn't wake until morning was almost over. Jaehwan had risen earlier and had left to find Taekwoon, leaving Wonsik asleep, because sleep was Wonsik's last solace, or so Jaehwan thought. They had somewhere to go, him and Taekwoon—Taekwoon had somewhere to go, but royal seals were nothing compared to royal persons when it came to easing passage, and Jaehwan was nothing but happy to help.

The morning held grey skies, and as the sun slipped unseen across the sky, the afternoon would hold grey skies as well.

Wonsik had only just dressed when the doors flew open and he found himself thrown backwards, back hitting the bed with such force that there was no breath in his lungs for several seconds, and his eyes went blind.

"What did you _do_?" Taekwoon snarled, grabbing Wonsik by the front of his robes.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Wonsik shoved at Taekwoon, but Taekwoon pushed Wonsik down harder, pinning him to the bed. 

"It wasn't him, Taekwoon, stop it!" Jaehwan came barrelling in, breathing hard as he doubled over, trying to regain his breath.

"Who else could it have been?" Taekwoon let go of Wonsik, snapped about to face Jaehwan.

"I don't know, but look at him—Wonsik's the fucking shittiest liar I know, other than you!"

"You—"

"You'd dare raise your hand against a Prince?" Jaehwan straightened, staring Taekwoon evenly in the eye as Taekwoon lunged for him.

" _Yes._ If it'd open your eyes—" The rest of Taekwoon's words were stolen with his next breath, as Jaehwan drove his fist solidly into Taekwoon's chest.

"Stop it!" Wonsik roared. "Stop fighting—are you children brawling in the street? Is this how you're going to solve all your arguments now?"

"Stay out of this." Jaehwan was still staring at Taekwoon. "It has nothing to do with you."

"No, it has _everything_ to do with him," Taekwoon said, and he wasn't looking at Jaehwan even if Jaehwan was looking at him. " _Where is the thief_?"

"Hakyeon... Hakyeon is... ?"

"Gone," Jaehwan said. He snorted, gesturing at Taekwoon. "You still think it was him?"

Wonsik took a deep breath, a steadying one, an unsteady one. "Taekwoon, I swear to you by all the Heavens that it was not me. But..." A hesitation, a consideration, words that did not have to be said. Words that he chose to say. "But I can't pretend I'm not glad."

Taekwoon's fist clenched but there was nothing to hit here—a moment after Taekwoon had strode outside, the solid sound of fist against stone travelled back to them. It was as if a sign, a cue—Jaehwan and Wonsik both turned to go outside.

They went to the prison.

Four guards had been slain by the doors. Three more in the main passage, two more in a hall. Nine men total. Wonsik may have been unfazed by death, but what made him sick was not the death, but because he couldn't find it in himself to condemn whoever had done this, whoever had traded nine lives to save the one. The unmistakable tang of blood remained, even if the blood itself had been wiped from the stones. It had been silent—no one had known until it had been time to change guards, and it had been upon that scene of chaos that Jaehwan and Taekwoon had arrived upon.

They stopped in front of a cell that Wonsik had visited once, Jaehwan and Taekwoon on either side of him, like it had always been. The cell was locked, but Jaehwan had already asked for the keys. The sound of the door unlocking was quiet and unobtrusive. Wonsik didn't know how to feel. Didn't know what he was allowed to feel.

The cell, of course, was empty. Even the jacket he had left here with Hakyeon was gone.

No, not empty. Wonsik crouched to the ground because smudged with dirt and made to look as gray as the stone, was a small jade shard.

"He must've dropped it, fleeing," Jaehwan said.

Wonsik cupped it in his palm. Fate, they'd called themselves. Fate, which had brought him and Wonsik together. But despite that fate, they had not been destined to end together, this story in this life and this time. Things could be lost, because they were fated to be with another. People could be lost, because fate was not strong enough to bind.

And people could be found even when they had been given up for lost, because that had been their destiny to seal their fate.

"No, it wasn't dropped," Wonsik said. He closed his fist around it. There was a cord run through a small hole, plainly woven. The last piece. He wondered if this thief had a name, other than the name that Wonsik knew. He laughed, softly.

"It's a gift."

  

  

  

  

完//end.

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

  

❀ ✿ ❀

  

  

"Who did he say he was?"

Wonsik follows Kyungmo into the summer afternoon, the ink of a half-finished sentence glistening on paper. He hopes this won't take long—he wants to finish this copying before he goes to meet Jaehwan and Taekwoon, to look at yet another potential new residence. There's a moon in the sky, almost full. Wonsik has to squint as he steps out, so bright is the day. Shadows are cast in front of them as they walk, still short, the sun not far past noon. 

"He didn't, Young Master," Kyungmo says. A streak of white fur bounds in front of their path, yapping excitedly—Kyungmo clucks in irritation. "Nuisance," he grumbles. A nuisance that Wonsik's seen Kyungmo feed choice scraps when the steward thinks no one's looking, despite his professed dislike for small dogs.

"And he won't come in?"

"As I said," Kyungmo says. "Tall young fellow, very well built. Ah, here we are. Young Master."

Kyungmo bows as they come to the main gate of the manor, and Wonsik walks towards the tall young fellow who'd insisted on waiting for Wonsik outside. 

"Young Master." The stranger bows respectfully, a fan held between his hands. Wonsik stares. Kyungmo has retreated—Wonsik is glad he has.

Big, he'd described him as. Yes, Wonsik thinks wryly, big was a good word to describe him as.

"Who are you?" Wonsik asks. "Steward Kyungmo said you would not give your name."

"But I have something else to give," the young man says. He straightens, and when he does, it is with the fan lying across his open palms, held towards Wonsik in an offering.

"Please," he says, bowing his head again.

Wonsik takes it, feels its familiar weight in his fingers, the well worn imprints on the wood. He had forgotten it. A lifetime ago or two lifetimes ago—he can't remember how long it's been missing for, but now that he has it returned, his heart seems to ache for those days in retrospect.

"And your name?" he asks.

A mischievous smile. "I think Young Master Investigator should already know," says Sanghyuk, a boy who's grown long past boyhood, and sometimes the things that were stolen from you would be the things that would steal you back.

"I have a guess," Wonsik says. A pause. "He's well?"

Something passes across the boy's face, and Wonsik's heart plummets until it's eased by a small shrug, a quirk of his lips. "Well enough," Sanghyuk says.

"I also come with thanks," Sanghyuk says. "No letter, just me: 'Thank you for the jacket, it is a comfort, my love, and I will always have your cloak to keep me warm.'" Sanghyuk grimaces as he finishes repeating what must have been the message, word for word. It sounds strange from Sanghyuk's mouth and Wonsik laughs at how disgruntled Sanghyuk looks.

"He seems well enough," Wonsik says. There's so much more he wants to say. So much more he wants to ask. The moon has cycled from full to new four times, and it's enough—Wonsik firmly tells himself—to know that he's well. 

"I... I also have my own thanks," Sanghyuk says. The petulance is gone and his eyes are downcast. "Your doctor friend—I don't like him! He's why my teacher was hurt. But I owe him my life. Please pass on my thanks."

A narrow necked bottle, brown with white flowers. It had gone missing from a locked cabinet, nothing else had been taken, nothing else had been disturbed. A sprig of lavender had been left in its place.

Wonsik bows. "You may safely entrust it to me," he says.

"And—" Sanghyuk blurts this out but then he swallows and blinks. He blinks several times and swallows again, and looks down at the ground. About a year ago, there had been blood on that ground. It's long gone now, and there's only dirt.

"And thank him for... For Sungjae. I offer my thanks in his place."

Wonsik bows again, and this time, he pauses a moment longer. He blinks as well and takes a deep breath before he straightens. "You may safely entrust this to me as well."

"Will you not come in?" Wonsik asks. Sanghyuk shakes his head, and yes, he's big, but there's still a youthful quality about him, despite whatever has happened to him in his short life. Wonsik frowns—"Wait here," he says.

He turns on his heel and runs inside, past a bewildered Fluffy and a bewildered servant, back to his rooms where he opens a locked drawer and pulls out a false bottom, snatching at something inside. When he comes back to the manor gate, his clothes are no longer in perfect order, but that pales in importance to what he holds out in his outstretched palms, much like the fan had been offered earlier.

A knife, well worn and well cared for, with a new wooden sheathe. Sanghyuk takes it, turning it in his hands.

"I meant to return it, but things happened," Wonsik says, and a flicker of understanding appears. "I thought I'd have time to after, but..."

"Fated but not destined," Sanghyuk says softly. Wonsik laughs at this, because he hears it in another's voice.

"Yes," Wonsik says. "That."

"I have something else," Wonsik says, and Sanghyuk frowns. "It's for you."

"For me?" Sanghyuk echoes. He points at himself as he says this.

Wonsik draws out two shards of jade from inside of his robes, and holds them out for Sanghyuk. "These belong to you."

Sanghyuk shakes his head. "No," he says. "That one is yours," Sanghyuk says, pointing to the one that Wonsik had found in a room with two dead bodies. He points to the other one as well, where a hole has been bored through the stone, and through which a cord runs. "And that was a gift. Don't return gifts so easily. They... 'If they're a gift from the heart, then they are a gift of the heart.'"

The last, Wonsik knows, are also not Sanghyuk's own words. He smiles, conjuring up an image, a voice. A smile.

In a shelf on his room, there are many gifts of the heart.

In the exams, he will have to construct careful lines of careful words, invoking the classics, perhaps set to the regular verse of poetry, all on topics that he won't know of until he is given brush, ink, and paper. Here, he's faced with a topic suddenly presented, but a topic that he has turned over and over in his mind, searching for words to fill the page, even if they were set in crudely simple sentences. It was a year and a story that's too substantially expansive for any essay to capture—Wonsik understands now why poets strive for their perfect verses, to capture joy and longing in the first seven words, sorrow in the last three, and paint with it all, the scene of winter pines under darkened moons with rain falling from a sunny day. He understands, but his own words are clumsy, his verses trite, and all he can say is:

"Tell him something for me."

"He said he wasn't sure if you would have a message," Sanghyuk says. His eyes are deferred downwards again, and Wonsik tries not to worry at the meaning of those words.

Instead, he says: "Thank you."

"For?" Sanghyuk frowns—it's a short message. Too short. He will ask, and he needs an answer to provide. Wonsik knows this well.

There are many things that Wonsik could say, so many that it would overwhelm the boy, and no matter how prodigious of a young man he was, Wonsik would never ask him to repeat such a message.

How does one encompass a year through which lifetimes have been lived, through which love has been found and given, through which love has been found and lost, and two very different loves these two had been. There are images, moments, memories. The taste of rice wine through the salt of tears, flashing steel and red silks, snow so heavy that it'd become impossible to travel for days. Tea poured perfectly, wine shared by a brazier, these two images repeated so many times that the smiles and laughter and teasing which had accompanied them has become indistinct and can conjure only a feeling. How does one convey such a feeling? 

He could give thanks for companionship, thanks for laughter, thanks for the comfort offered in a time when there had been nothing Wonsik needed more than comfort from the person who he'd given his heart to. His heart hadn't been stolen—one couldn't steal what had been willingly given. He knows this.

He could give thanks for the days and the nights, for danger braved, for agreeing to write a story with Wonsik, because it was in stories that men could choose the endings—but never stories that were their own.

He could, Wonsik realises, give thanks for the return of his fan, left behind so long ago that he doesn't even remember how long he's been without it. It's too trivial a matter, but he could.

Words have always been inadequate. Wonsik is not the first, nor the last, to be faced with this truth. Poets and writers for years behind, and thousands of years ahead, are faced with this truth every time they hold their brushes above paper, the ink drying on the stone. He isn't the first to wish he could make words out of nothing, like the fabled wordsmith of legend, nor is he the first to wish that he could craft the words that would go beyond thanks, but would build a world that would allow lost loves to return.

Wonsik bows. His message is simple.

"For trusting me," he says.

And that will have to be enough.

  

  

  

  

  

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> **acknowledgements:**  
>  ❀ imagery/references/quotes from: _under heaven_ by guy gavriel kay, _cangjie_ by mayday, _late spring_ by han yu (晚春－韩愈), _moon night_ by liu fangping (月夜－刘方平), _eve_ by bai juyi (除夜－白居易). much early influence came from amazing sherlock, including the poison subplot.  
>  ❀ this fic was written primarily to _counting pulses_ by nell, _eternity_ by vixx, and _cangjie_ and _starry sky_ by mayday  
>  ❀ [extended notes](http://questingly.dreamwidth.org/1079.html) related to setting/background. about as organised and well planned as this fic.  
> ❀ thank you first and foremost to renquise, for allowing me the chance to remix this fic, and hope you'll forgive me for turning it into something so drastically...different.   
> ❀ thank you to j, for sticking with me through the hardest days and (literally...) forcing me to write—i never would have otherwise finished, and this fic wouldn't exist without you. ilu.  
> ❀ thank you to i for being a sounding board and providing pics, anon for giving me the help and push i needed when i was ready to give up, s.t. for unsympathetically encouraging me, s.s. for very kindly encouraging me and getting me through this last week, m for putting up with my shit and not giving up on me, and to a, forever and always.  
>    
> 
> 
>  
> 
> -a. out  
> 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (and feel free to hmu at my [ask.fm](https://ask.fm/enpleurs) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/enpleurs) if you have any questions about the background or want to chat! and i guess i'll leave you all with [this](http://i.imgur.com/PUT78j0l.png).)


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